Some tiny creature, mad with wrath,

Is coming nearer on the path.

--Edward Gorey

Location: Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, U.S. Outlying Islands

Writer, lawyer, cyclist, rock climber, wanderer of dark residential streets, friend.

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Invisible the Shining

Morning's door closed
safely against
the night's transgressions,
the shower is sun-washed
and calming after
a fashion.

From my brow cascade rings of
droplets toward a vanishing
point hidden beneath
the sun-quickened enamel of
the bathtub,
constellated elongations like
in swift retreat,
circumscribing the tunnel of
my vision and
bearing away sweat and memory
illuminated from
(and sanitized):
incarcerated sunlight older than
its departure
and younger than
I would describe myself
in candid conversation.

Eyes veer equine and foaming
across a porcelain grid
etched in grout and unseen --
I envy
(or perhaps resent
or perhaps there is
no difference)
such orderly delineations --
in pursuit of
a new and unfamiliar
flaw in the vitreous humor, an
indistinct and thus more
smear attended by
a vermiculate eddy,
a corona to record
some occular insult
or mortification
a metaphor --

occult sun shining
occult sin shining
occult sun shunning


In such darkness as
the sun allows
as God allows
his opposite
if He does

I hide

the venous aureole
the venal reminder
the shining.

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Blogger panda said...

I've read this like 4 times and I'm not sure I have an entry point. Something's missing, something's pushing me out of the poem. let me sit on it, then 'ill write more.

9:11 AM  

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