Monday, May 20, 2013

20 may 2013

Bob Hicok [MiPOesias]

more Bob Hicok from Elegy Owed:

How we came to live where we live

The movie was over except the credits,
music like but not Satie, I don’t remember
if I felt the loss of the child deeply
or needed people to think I did,
as when you stand before a painting
in a museum for as long as you hope
says something good about you, even
when you’re not sure what that good thing is,
that you’re considerate of red or appreciate
the historical significance of the brocade
or know that the woman in the foreground
holding the scythe was the painter’s lover,
Mary Blake, who went on to swim
the English Channel twice, once forward,
once backward, but the vision was clear, I wanted
to carry tiny people around in a box, actors
who longed to perform Our Town
for an audience of any size, the numbers
didn’t matter if their attention
was complete, You would feel like the sun,
wouldn’t you, when they applaud, I longed
to ask the tiny actors in my arms,
and to feed them like the grasshoppers
I believed as a child only needed grass
in a jar to thrive, then we had cocooned
ourselves in our coats and were outside
with the gargoyles on the library, a gray sky,
I was carrying the box of actors
in how I believed the world was trying
to be perfect, nothing has to be real
to be real, like love, how often it makes me want
to eat you, not figuratively but actually
devour the hours you fill, one by one
or fill you, however that works with time,
and we walked until we couldn’t, so far
there was no more light from the city,
and built a bed there, a garden,
a perspective, what you might call
the staples of a life, and stayed.

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