--- R O N A L D P A L M E R
Hope hovers: a ten mile sanguine rectangle: hand-smeared with rag-smudged edges: we find a rock for two: look up at the blue shark: wide as a football field or a continent: gaseous body extending in reverse: inert as a real shark: patient for prey: waiting in the black ocean of the sky: even if it could see us: we'd blend into east coast: two sparking lesions within cerebral skin: waiting here holding hands: on this counterfeit skeleton of a T-rex: tall spine levitates our backs ten feet from the creeping tide: none of us come singing from the womb: we find everything: including a screen: a canvas: a voice with which we sing at the ocean or sky: when nothing spoken will do: Billy turns to me with his ocean eyes and whispers: it must end somewhere. None of us come singing. None of us.
© crossconnect 1995-1999
published in association with the |
university of pennsylvania kelly writers house |