Thursday, May 16, 2013

Italia Della


Italia Della


[Crescent.  An inner edge
               that bled rust
               into adjacent cloud-smog.
Gut.         Connecting to thorns
               a pulsing sliver, pressing
               until it burst.
Eyes.       Flitting: hither, thither
               left, right and everywhere
               —wake of a cutting swallow.
Engulf.     Cut to ribbons
               by a fleeting look
               that raged as it rummaged.
Inflict.       Look back to affix
               Stare to find a still well
               To park a weary apparatus.
Invent.      She found herself
like a long-lost crochet-book
whilst he stopped to miss everything

But then—she was a woman shrunk to girl, and he was a man robbed of reserve.
]


(May 16, 2013
To a fine writing instrument, costing a few dimes
Presented in hopes, or nonchalance (who knows?), by the one and only
And to a bright Crescent that still thrills my spine
If it does not still my senses.
The rest is…haiku, I believe.
)