this darkness fails to fall completely as night falls upon us and there is a dirty reflection too much glass glazed with human produced dust, dusting every surface
no rain has caused us a dust bowl but we wait for November to make a prediction.
in that glass, will the moon rise. we’ve risen above it, a cloud not of dusted
humanity but of read humility, it arises thick grapes of wrath rung from machines
bleed me pink flush so that i can welcome your gaze upon these leaves that shall
bespeak of no moves, no pathways, no rhythm from a lowly alto moan.
we are dust in the beginning and in this ending, will you cover me with a
smile knowingly it was what she inspired of anyone who took the tome to read
contemplate her dust as it rested upon humanity as only Alice, dear puss,
could tame that beast.
(Fourth week of ModPo class and delving into Gertrude Stein. Today I spent quite a while reading Two Lives, a biography of sorts on Stein and her companion Toklas. The above poem was inspired after overload, jotted down as the sun went down in stream.)
**I’ve contemplated closing up YHC for I’ve been working on another blog. If the site goes empty, please know I’ve not stopped writing, just redirected… we shall see, blue notes still falling.