Because of Lawrence Durrell
I cannot waste any more time.
No more magazines about food, wine, home decorating.
When I walk the dogs and stop to let them pee and see a small,
bare tree dressed in dewdrops
masquerading as fine rhinestones, I should, at once, be more serious or
perhaps, less. I confess, I've become unsure and suspicious of everything
beautiful. Yesterday, a gooses head, ripped from its rest
by a winter starved mammal. Coyote or fox? It doesn't matter,
in their sea-wet fur, an agitated hunger grabs hold of one's breathing. Did I
kill the thing in a fit of Venus and moonlight? Black feathers stuck to my lips, running
through the marsh, meaty body in maw. You see?
No longer can I discern wind in the trees from cars heading in my direction.
Oh Alexandria, your fiery sieges and bitter ashes,
all that has been extinguished still flutters in a madman's dream --
like lightning, his eyes snap open
and close. Open and close. Open
i don't know why the line breaks look like this. :(