My brain sees all it seems to need.
Tearing eyes stare, hungry to feed
It with bloody meat and crushed seed
It devours with delicate greed.
The iris, that maculate bead,
Expands the pupil as lights speed
Through neurons, never to be freed.
The elephants cannot be freed
From the lake; they have slow will, no speed.
From a swan's beak a single bead
Drops, ripples what my brain agreed
To see, bird become beast. We seed
Our lives with all we've seen, and feed
On illusions illusions need.
Hi Chris, very nice. I am reminded of Leda and the Swan, especially Adrienne Rich's poem. "The beak that grips her/ She becomes." I admire your diligence and ZEAL with your work.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Christine. Sorry I missed this comment. I don't get a lot of them. I heard from Mike that you went to King Lear. I wish I could have joined you. Thanks for the kind words. Take care. Christopher
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