December 25, 2019

• renunciation

  

   

  i won't write about the arrival
  of the sun, grinning with teeth
  that are crimson from savaging the night.
  never mind the clouds' conversation,
  the snow reflecting pink diamonds,
  the black, skeletal thinking
  of winter's brittle trees.

  it is several years now since i felt
  the devastation of love--its passionate light;
  its fetal aftermath.  they have
  a vividness reserved for dreams;
  the tragi-comedy of a shakespeare play.
  but neither shall i write more about the seas,
  salt, or sun;

  no tree crotches, fat hobos;
  no Lotharios.
  i will keep to a grayscale montage,
  moonbeams dangling from a magical sky,
  a tired river abandoning its flailing arms
  of shallow water to a white tropical sun.
  never mind the lingering horde of dreams,
  those bright colors of a fable that lingers on--
  i renounce them.

  i won't write poetry of love

  • 8:03 am
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