An excerpt from one poem:
I forgot clutching the wet mane of a panicked horse…. I forgot the night was unanimous…. I forgot how an erasure captures the threshold of consciousness…. I forgot how one begins marking time from a lover’s utterance of Farewell…. I forgot Mom beginning to age when she started looking at the world through heartbreaking resignation…. I forgot dancing furious flamenco with vultures under a menopausal sun…. I forgot learning to appreciate rust, and how it taught me bats operate through radar…. I forgot the plainest of bread can clear an oenophile’s palate…. I forgot dust motes trapped in a tango after the sun lashed out a ray…. I forgot the bliss deep within an ascetic’s eyes as he wandered with a beggar’s bowl…. I forgot how detachment includes. I forgot how detachment enabled a white rattlesnake to penetrate my dreams.
first i read your title as 'the connoisseur of aliens' meaning the aliens from the film franchise brought to rich life via ridley scottt's 1979 masterwork of gothic horror! pardon me, i have monsters on the brain. an acute case of love-of-halloween-itis!ReplyDelete
your title, eileen, is a keeper.
Hah! Thanks Richard. But now you've actually made me salivate to write something that could be entitled THE CONNOISSEUR OF ALIENS...ReplyDelete