Thursday, January 12, 2006



In glorious black and white with the surge

of salt foam racing around the isle

of our twining bodies. Punctuated

by fireworks, by warm rain, by warm snow,

by safely errant trajectories

of bullets and tanks and strafing bi-planes

in the star freckled sky. Aswoon,

afloat, afire, astride, aloft, akimbo,

none of these, no. Not

in the orbit of the earth or its molten core,

where gravity dissipates

at the last, where the seed

of the world floats within itself

far from the eyes

of you and me. In the largest eyes ever,

the goggling gimlets

of the architeuthis

as we sink in the inkwell dark

of the blind ocean.

As extras in the cast of Yog the Space Amoeba,

mouthing Japanese

we never before knew,

our fear real, the danger fake,

each building burnt

like a cheap cigarette,

down to an ashen stub, down to the loveless earth

where you say to me

we must run or die.


adlibris said...

Hi Paul. I'm a fellow Chattanoogan and writer and literally just stumbled on your blog today. I love this poem. Haven't read any other parts of your blog yet, but I'm looking forward to doing so. If you get a chance, my blog is

Paul said...

Glad you found the blog. I'll drop by yours.

Anonymous said...

I really liked this poem.