s c a p e g o a t 's r e h e a r s a l
C O L E T T E D E D O N A T O
It seems I have two lives: one blighted by worry
and the indignity of useless regretting,
the other a kind of windy, unmeasured grace
marked by intermissions of nonsense.
What could have been half an eyeful of history,
the brutal blood running through me,
transposes itself like a child's play or
laughter turning its shiny belly
towards the light, just as winter adds
to the poetry of a house
dominated by straight lines.
Contradiction is the test of necessity,
you say. So where do you rightfully
belong in the second act of becoming?
If I have a red window I cant
see my room as anything but pink.
I have no answers that I know of.
Sometimes the words don't arrive,
just their sounds.
© crossconnect 1995-2000
published in association with the
university of pennsylvania's
kelly writers house