No Regrets
What can you do with a banjo
when the moon is full
and you’re wretched
and lying like an old poem?
your brain smouldering
with smoke-like tendrils of thought
a violet burning inside your head
like a cloying rhyme
never fully closed
doors
where you had eyes and ears
where your mouth and nose should be
even when the brain
is a smoke-like hearse
never regret moonlight in your bed
or banjos, or memories,
or regrets
You have a foolish heart:
what does that mean
to the sweet, forgetful words
of midnight?
*
I took the approach that it was a second or third draft of a poem of my own.
Thanks for the opportunity to work with already strong material. I went for
a pared down through line of thought and a familiar rhythm (to my ear!).
Enjoy.
No comments:
Post a Comment