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PEARL

June 2, 2011 in Poets At Work

pearl

PEARL

Are we in the last days?
We, here, not far from the temple of anachronisms,
is time welling up out
of a natural spring with us trying to catch all
we can catch in our hats?
It is a perfect day in November, but it might
be the day of Chronos
doing his eternal thing, leaving us to do ours.
Inquire of yourself:  why
the despair?  Why the migraines?  If you were expecting
this poem to be a pearl,
you may want a refund.  Me?  I’m just my own bones, my
own cloth.  I’m a compressed
sort of concubine, growing my parts into something
which may or may not rise,
but will most certainly burn.  All of my moods suit me
fine and, while I do notreflect the light as I used to,
I still burn in it.

 

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