Monday, December 21, 2009
Riffing on one of Denver's daily poems:
4 out of 5 semioticians,
will assert that the opposite of somersault is not winter sugar.
But some of the less well-moored will wink as they say it,
just in case.
and stapling a black tailfeather onto one of his drowning ghazals:
My son is the raven of glittering eye
And he thinks that we send too few to the sky.
It is good, I think, to stir hot poetry into the morning's second cup of black coffee.
Denver and Sawako and Joseph have been reminding me . . . .