like a tortured secret...
like a long john drip dried up side down
in Arkansas wind...
like a nosebleed
up to the rim of the bucket below...
an icicle of congealed pebbles
hangs over the interlaced
bamboo
sticks
tickst
icksti
ckstic
kstick
sticks; the tip
of the glacial cone drips
its unction through the rungs of the cold pyre,
as each inch of the sunrise
drops with a speed of stone
and takes it dues from the hollow of the chime
as tangle strands of breath lunge,
eyes see not a thing inside the harrowed
field of vision but ears catch
the time-cascade through
the sound-carcass.
“I heard but
saw nothing.”
How I Learn
-
ccvulture
I'm getting
"I buried my soul in myself and didn't get on with the business of living" from this. If that's not your intention, fine. Funny how the interpretations often throw up new views!
Regards
Stuart
PS I really like the depiction of the bamboo trellis. It's graphical *and* onomatopoeic at the same time - I could really hear the bamboo sticks clacking together in their lashings.
"I buried my soul in myself and didn't get on with the business of living" from this. If that's not your intention, fine. Funny how the interpretations often throw up new views!
Regards
Stuart
PS I really like the depiction of the bamboo trellis. It's graphical *and* onomatopoeic at the same time - I could really hear the bamboo sticks clacking together in their lashings.
I like this a lot. As a graphic description, it works well, with some very striking lines. For example, 'an icicle of congealed pebbles', calls to mind the 'blood' from earlier. 'Sticks; the tip / of the glacial...' is subtle and sounds great. I think the last two lines 'I heard, but saw nothing' encapsulate the impression this poem gives me - that the sounds and detailed images are more important that what the poem is about.