Wednesday, January 14, 2015

SYMBOLS TURNED TO WORDS

Tripping—alone with Molly
under the gray hibernal  

oak trees
of afternoon's imagination—I feel my own 
mentality 

slowly swinging
open—to the weird
sounds of 

a few new birds calling—unseen
down another
snow-muzzled 

corridor of ashy city; 
and I apprehend 
attention—ordinarily all left- 

feet and 
hands kicking 
hard at the sharp air—now bending

back—supple,
ready to settle
easily

for the laziest-
possible definition 
of poetry going.

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