circle

it should go without saying (and maybe it does) that any poem posted on this blog may not be in its final form.

remember, a poet is two things: 1) never wrong, and 2) always revising

Circle

bump bump sway

nineteenth maybe eighteenth century

carriage bumps over a path of stones

left by no one

exposed rather than laid

a body dead at the reins directs

mortal horses beautiful flanks manes history

bump bump sway

inside

the southern belle sweats

not so striking as she once was

before all the sinning

she is soft flat asymmetrical

bony in some places

she asks the corpse perched on the driver’s bench

when they will be arriving

bump bump sway

it must be a million degrees

the trees are more like magma than anything

coals have long since replaced the grass

beneath the sun three maybe four moons also burn

she tells the dead she believes

they may have passed this particular flame before

bump bump sway

not watching the path

he turns to speak through a wooden grate

he says,

“I want your body.”