Poem of the Day
Second Dream
By C. S. Giscombe
In my experience—waking
life—nothing had readied me for such an arrival.
In my experience—waking
life—nothing had readied me for such an arrival.
It is a loose sleeve whose hair wraps the
Bedouin on his pony and then slings him
Into the wind, always to be a monad
Everything turns into tape. It (check one)
puts the multiples on a loop (1)
reduces all numbers to one (2)
Now the trees tempt
the young girl below them
In 1954, in June
I saw a total eclipse of the sun by the moon.
I saw the flowers fold up, the birds
If the generation wither
twinkling slinky, our of which
how should I
17 floors
above 8th Avenue
in an apartment in 1962
lumbering logging lonesome
lugging muggy weather
numbs my brain
Tonight the
light is
right
I speak of one whose triumph
is like his own despair
“a prison we all carry”;
Up-and-down shafts of light brick
Lift occupants up into prisms or roofs
Of green copper, and then embark on the sky.