Wednesday, March 25, 2009

oncology.

"oncology"

hammer down your hands on the wooden table,
sometimes we make ourselves a
stylized burn onto something natural
naturally alluring, concurring, reassuring.

the dead and divine make time,
so why can't i? they shoes trace the
paths of all the old soldiers
we're regressionists, expelled
into arduous galore.

1 comment:

  1. This little poem stuns.

    I love "regressionists." Such a brilliantly crafted/ made-up word. Something lyrical about it. In the way that some folk songs are lyrical when they embrace the colloquial. The idea that the most straight forward way of saying something, is the best way of saying something. Like De Stijl art.

    And maybe that's the analogy that needs to be drawn for this little poem. It's like De Stijl art. Simple in its raw materials. Direct in what it appears, but misgiving in how abstract it is.

    You begin with the bang (the onomatopoeia of the hammer, perhaps). And you have that flash image and the attention of the reader. And then you show off: you know how to pick your adverbs.

    Are you saying that we are re-stylized versions of the past? The repetition of the same thing over and over again. Or are you just trying to show us all a picture?

    A very strong piece. At least clothe it in a title. It deserves it.

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