Thursday, April 26, 2007

Burnished Copper

he slept under the coffin
burnished copper so bright,
you could see God’s face in the hasps

the grave-men stood their shovels
against the grave-cart wheel,
God’s quarry-men biding time and grace

his father bought a new car that year
with a hood so wide,
you could see the sky from the back seat

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz
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