Poem Beginning with a Line from Transtromer Here I come, the invisible man, perhaps employed by something only the dead can articulate in their oily view of the past and their eagerness for a future, a future they have forgotten even exists. Here I go, lost in a game of chess with the weather, a game of latitude with the mast of a ship, a game of searching gone black by night. What I desire in the sleepy folds of repetition--only a crumb. May I for a moment be nervous breath beneath the sky's slivered blue? As if given an excuse to turn my back on the horizon, am I only a crow holding my flight pattern turning away from violence and all other kinds of weather?
Poem Beginning with a Line from Transtromer.
Clay, Adam
Poem Beginning with a Line from Transtromer Here I come, the invisible man, perhaps employed by something only the dead can articulate in their oily view of the past and their eagerness for a future, a future they have forgotten even exists. Here I go, lost in a game of chess with the weather, a game of latitude with the mast of a ship, a game of searching gone black by night. What I desire in the sleepy folds of repetition--only a crumb. May I for a moment be nervous breath beneath the sky's slivered blue? As if given an excuse to turn my back on the horizon, am I only a crow holding my flight pattern turning away from violence and all other kinds of weather?