(after James Tate)
Would you eat the most hurtful thing in the freezer?
The convection oven’s
undecipherable music boils around
a clutter of loaves. 2:30
in the morning and we still haven’t
hit our naked
gallop of heat. Look — the meat
melts: the shape it wore it wore
as mistakes of itself. My questions
go nowhere. What gigantic collisions
tease your earlobe like a lover’s tongue?
8 responses so far ↓
Deb // May 31, 2009 at 1:54 pm |
This is gorgeous and disturbing.
(I can mail you my Harvey, if you want to read it. Not pushing, really.)
nathan // May 31, 2009 at 3:59 pm |
Yes, Deb, mail it!
Michelle Johnson // June 1, 2009 at 1:48 am |
Excellent poem, Nathan. But, then I’ve been reading your blog off and on for some time and haven’t found a poem I didn’t like. You certainly have a way with words.
In this poem I especially liked: and we still haven’t
hit our naked
gallop of heat. Great choice of words. Hope all is well. Have a nice night.
nathan // June 1, 2009 at 10:30 am |
Thanks so much Michelle. I hope all is well with you too.
cocoyea // June 5, 2009 at 9:40 pm |
Powerful piece. Love this: “…and we still haven’t
hit our naked.”
nathan // June 6, 2009 at 10:46 am |
Hi Cocoyea. I’m glad you like it.
slynne // June 25, 2009 at 3:17 am |
I love this a lot, Nathan. Personal 3 person poetry night next week? Me+you+emily?
nathan // June 29, 2009 at 6:36 pm |
Hey, thanks. This week is bad. How about next week?