Monday, June 14, 2010

20: Erín Moure

The brain’s smoke-like hearse
puts the smoulder to the real
The smoke-like brain
puts the smoulder to the real

the reel unwinds

Wretched and lying down
tonight I’m really old
There’s doors where my eyes, ears, mouth, nose
should be

a banjo, a memory, a regret

I have a foolish heart
and there’s windows where my heart, spleen, pancreas
should be
But I never regret moonlight in my bed

I move over: moonlight!


i could play with this awhile as i love revising, looking at the music of words, the effects different words and positionings have on each other... what that provokes in me, what more. or less. i tend to work by taking the first drafts and pulling out where i think language is working, and letting the strong language provoke me into generating more... i look at it all, and move things, and make new lines, and go where language wants me to go. this is a little bit of work, very modest, very quick in this case (otherwise i'd never get it done!). i kinda like the poem! it sounds like i wrote it!

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