by phillipw | Jan 12, 2020 | PH
In Some Real Sense In some real sense our childhoods are replaced By photos. Here I sit with pale hair so Blond that it erases me. I’m traced In memory now because of flashbulb blow And not because synapses in my brain Remember me, that little, nearly...
by phillipw | Jan 12, 2020 | LO
Two Symbols Two symbols could not be much more unlike Each other, one of softness in an arc, The other of right angles, death and spike, The rainbow—sweetness—and the cross, like shark Its style The bending bow that Rimbaud thought Of on the ferry...
by phillipw | Jan 12, 2020 | SE
Who Knows Where We Are Going? Who knows where we are going when we set Off every day? We start out for the shops And meet the one we’ve always dreamed of, Brett Or Betty. Or we pass a winter copse While on a bus to Oxford, open wide Our book, . . . and find...
by phillipw | Jan 12, 2020 | CI
Bewitched Wikicommons When Circe is reduced to trivial Tableau by Burne-Jones, caught in old gold, blue And black and white, tainting convivial Containers in “The Wine of Circe,” true Iniquity is camouflaged. He seemed To realize this...
by phillipw | Jan 12, 2020 | LO
Utter Her words came down as if they fell from scars Across the moon. She had not meant to hurt, Which only made it worse. As cold as Mars Her sentence entered me. It was the dirt Beneath Antarctic ice. It wasn’t that The words were toneless,...
