the air is metallic,
the taste of old blood
this is an un-dead sky
what is contained in this pulsating blitz
is that
not usually notice
- wind-smears through electric branches
- the white fire of small wings
scooped into a deeper distance
- the smell of malformed frights
shaking paralyzed rains
- magnetic minims of heat and cold
deranged by layers of madness
this in not weather
this is the way
days and nights are killed
fractions of a textured atmosphere
separate
detach
fly away
fingertips
touch the weight
of a bulging ozone
no one saw it leave
it did not move on
it moved inward as such events do
later
cats were found in other parts
alive
but forever haunted by daylight
The bright light, plentiful mirrors
seemed more numerous here.
Miriam wondered whether music lessons
were part of her remuneration.
She thought of people,
the very first time she had played a duet-
a little running melody.. her own
part, a page of minims.
She heard nothing but her hard
loud minims to the end.
Someone said she had a nice firm touch
The piano should always remember the blue remark-
the piano had been unrecognizable,
she had learnt her pieces by heart
..alternately the notes, almost soundlessly.
At musicale evenings,
as winter had sung afresh the effects
she could not discover
the secret of the notes.
Suzanne Delaney
Found Poem
from Pointed Roofs
by Dorothy Miller Richardson
It was a fractured miscarriage.
The system groaned like a huge cow.
We milked her till human thirst chopped the teats.
I belong to no glamour,
my faults burn like classics.
Total freedom will come
when I am through.
The dates creep under the skin, I faint,
The tiny minims shine on my lips.
The symbols crash.
Me and my shadow bubbling with
the smell of poems,
I come back to arguments.
To justify the Armageddon
of first & last love.
How could it happen?
The fear has death, as a lover.
I sleep with it every night.
The demolition of memory, it sweats like a black cloud.
There is no religion in desires,
choiceless destruction of each dawn.
Satish Verma