Watching Space Videos

-
WATCHING SPACE VIDEOS


This poem—in no way—is meant

to contradict the doctrine of Imago Dei,

but seeing as earlier this morning I

read that “man himself is but a beast,”


I imagine from Your point of view

we look a lot like yellow labs,

laid like doormats on a sunny slab 

of porch, chins down to slurp up slow


puddles of August heat. Yes, I gather

how a passerby could mis-interpret

our posture as one of complete

content, but You know us better


than that— at every sound from

behind the veil our heads snap

up, our ears go tilting back, 

and wordlessly we beg for in

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

7th Period

-
7th PERIOD Safe to assume we’ve probably got it  mostly wrong, or if not quite wrong  then likely a right that’s misinterpreted the question. That being said, students,  the fact remains that at the construction site  behind the classroom there’s a trailer-load of 2-by-10’s used to frame the concrete  foundation that I struggle to believe  they’re throwing away. Perhaps  it would be a more advantageous  use of our day were we to spend what’s left  of class time shouldering lumber across campus to the bed of my truck.  I, for one, plan on spending a few afternoons of my remaining puzzlement to puzzle  together a table where my children can pick up the pondering where I left off. It seems as good  a use of time as any. It's coarse work, but with every pass of the paper you can’t help  but feel that you’re getting somewhere,  like maybe, in the proverbial 8th period,  we’ll get up from our desks and gather roun...
Read more

The Bends

-
 THE BENDS           At a certain depth the voices all thrum at the same, garbled pitch.  Both wisdom and the waiting swarm of bees call you up for air,  both wisdom and the Anglerfish draw you deeper. Do you paddle faster  from Leviathan or close your eyes and wait?  Once inside, do you stab the tender heart or caress it? There’s leagues on leagues but we’re in  out of ours and the tanks are low. You die if you come up too quick, you die  if you don’t surface soon, and at this sounding we won’t be dragged out by the light  of the moon. As to good news, t he returned ship sloshes vacant  at port while the wreck is found  at rest on solid ground, home now  to an ecosystem riddled with life.
Read more

Refurbished

-
REFURBISHED The ladybug dies  wedged in wicker,  is spray-painted green.  Disassemble yourself.  Free trampoline.   Not one to jump to conclusions, but if even pipe-smoke throws a shadow in moonlight, nothing is ever full- nothing, right?  The trees agree to lower the veil  and reveal the bare strip of road which runs behind the house.  The white roar of leaving  never leaves, and the porch  light flickers but never goes out.  In a world of partially resurrected things, the quick and the dead dance a tango then collapse in a tangled heap to make  furious love till morning shakes the can and picks a fade-resistant shade of light.
Read more