Monday, January 24, 2011

Divagations (2)

Image by Mike Rayhawk

A Field on Mars

Hunted from their places,* fierce+ & hungry# hordes
& nomads plunge into our streets.

The word is desiccation, somewhere that was fertile once,
& now, battered by a hostile wind, becomes a field on Mars,
a world more lonely than the world allows.

Behold the grandmother, her skin a dirty grey^
as if the light were of a foreign color, absent,
hidden from the hole in which she dwells.**

These are no children’s games – or are they?

Cards slapped on a table, thrown against a wall,
brought as a pack down on the willing skin.

Saints alive!++

The call to battle rattles the savage mind,
a premise from the present yet no less exotic.

Granted: that their funds are toxic comes as no surprise;
that the lack of means betokens a further struggle;
that nations once deprived rise in their millions.##

It is a thought on which to dwell, shaken^^ from sleep.

* pastures.... + skinned..... # angry.... ^ [trying to see it in his mind]
** she smells..... ++ [words that her ghost called forth] .....## with
their minions .....^^ rousted

Jerome Rothenberg

Posted over on his site Poems & Poetics

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