Thursday, February 16, 2012

Mark Weiss/ poems

TRANSCENDENCE

In a world of gesture
three deaf teenagers
"speak," her hands
an electric dance, the boys
cruder, in a world
in which scratching an itch
may be a silent eloquence.

ONE HOPES

Based on the known,
imagining the confluence,
one hopes for a florid excitement, a spastic
flailing, some kind of
satisfaction.

ONE DOES

In time one decorates necessity.

A foot becomes a skein of bones.

What I said
and what I thought I said
and what I meant to say.

A QUESTION TO THE STARS

Are there any here
but us chickens?
Have there ever been?

A TASK

Not that I make this place
but that I make
its story.

END OF TIME

The season arrives with a clamor of geese.
And at the end of it.

EASIER SAID THAN DONE

Sometimes transcendence is a trick of harmony,
tonic to dominant-C major-
and the sky opens.

No comments:

Post a Comment