Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Rondel Supreme of Unbeing for Hoopers

Close your eyes and spin.
The swimminess of poetry,
letters loosed, swallowed with glee,
dissolve with each turn. Unpin
thought and let it go. The din
of the daily erases with velocity.
Close your eyes and spin
the swimminess of poetry.
Pop and static, you’re the song in
heavy rotation, a dark ocean of free
forgotten foreverness. You can’t un-be?
Oh, here you can. Ha, ha! A win
to close your eyes and spin
the swimminess of poetry.

Sonnet for a Sad Dream

There’s a way to pack the chandelier
that no longer fits in with the rest
of your furniture’s bleak and blear.
Each crystal dangled undressed

except for its prisms, twisted on wires
of twilight metal. Use tissue paper.
No. Toss them in a glass box, amplifier
of their song. Unsayable stars, capable

of anything, ask them about the basement.
They will tell you how broodiness
and longing can build a monument
to the wrought scrollwork of sadness,

how once taut links will ease to the floor,
relaxed. Inside each teardrop, the salt of furor.