Sunday, June 6, 2010
Repetition in 3/4 time
Empty lines-
Now there are not enough notes-
and I am missing notes-
I am missing your notes
too much time passing
two, three, four, five
too much, much, too much
and I am missing my notes
I am, missing,
I am missing my-
waiting, waiting, waiting,
resting, resting, resting,
enough rest for a pillow
give me the sound-
Recitative, recess and heave-
I am declaimed in your rhythm,
but the rhythm has not declined,
the metronome is ticking,
time, bomb, ticking, time,
ticking, ticking, ticking
ticking time,
ticking time bomb,
time has bombed,
time has exploded
the sound is dead
there is death
death in the sound
dead sound
into sound, there
it is the dull hum
the vibration.
where have you been?
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner....
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there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
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hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
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Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
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like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
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driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
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nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
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motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
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Out the window, I thought I saw Emily pale, gawking. a green T-shirt. bouncing firey springs on her head.
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Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
I once knew a young and immature person who swore that repetition had no place in poetry, but I couldn't disagree more.
ReplyDeleteRepetition, not just in poetry, is the best way to re-affirm something.
But look who's talking...
I'm sorry, could you repeat what you just said, I didn't catch it... ;)
ReplyDeleteI love love love this. <3
ReplyDeletethanks lovely Dana
ReplyDelete