Painting by Richard Gagnon
A Town Called Meter
There is a town called meter
north of Spain.
In it the dead still live
& I have seen them,
who am hungrier than them
not angrier.
I stand among them
with my forged
credentials, calling
on the rest to follow
suit. A bunch of drifters
rubs against me
men with iron spoons
gouging my heart.
I stumble after them
into a town square
sunk below sea level
hard & dry.
A gay parade
files past me
inching up the steps.
I stop a while
my feet in broken flight
over the stones.
The night flows from my eye
the day holds back.
I learn to mimic birds
caught in the brambles.
I have a stark
vocabulary
letting my heart keep time,
my throat in rapture
crying out to you:
the mask! the mask!
in perfect rhythm.
Jerome Rothenberg
Posted over on Rothenberg's Homepage
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