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shiny objects

Monday, October 24, 2005


Ekphrastigasm
or
Dead Birds
Welcome, gentle readers, to round two of EKPHRASTIC MADNESS - a seven episode installment (hopefully by Friday) of raw, unfettered culture. Lo, I have produced more verse in search of your undying approval.

For those of you just joining the fun, I ask that you take a gander at the painting in the previous post as a point of reference.


II. Her Eyes

The dove,
       a quivering white mouth,
Slackened as my sight
Learned glistening leaf 
                              from bird, and
       first finger beckoned;

I often speculate
on what became of 
             the dove
       whose skull I scattered 
       with Father's gun - 

                                     whose brain-flecked breast
                                     I left behind
                                 to pine and shrub,
                                 to rain,
                                 and worm - 

And dream that 
In lives to come
The dove will take her seat
        across an aisle
        and grant me similar eyes to say
You were the man
     who starved my young.




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