On the ___
we got our rocks off
the burnished ties
burned along the corpsed pier
the billboards snickered at
higher drivers
installed with every option
and three lanes
aimed at the same deathless bend
the bridge moonlit
as a cyclist's prison (after 10)
post-meridian
trees, trees bloomed
the formless midnight boats
cast comets of woken rudders
left lights on like bathwater
to wash the fisherman bones.
long casts. noooooooooooo bites.
2 comments:
Pretty humorous. Benjam. Frankl. brid. is a spooky distancer.
What fails in it if the reader has no knowledge of the night? Maybe nothing, though.
Yeah. I've been thinking a lot about how an artist's motivation and the reader's reception co-relate after seeing the debate on Silliman's blog about William's Rose poem.
I've concluded knowledge is irrelevant and poems centered on object and their collision should be read like photographs without captions.
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