The Rising

by Darryl Price

The coin, so little, the watch chain, the youth, the 

softening speech, each hand, the panic modeled in your eyes,   

the ashtray, stumps, the long distance, the odd feather, the

jazz rope, the radiant shadow, the spine in gold letters,


the arches, the circumstance, the broke off mirrors held up to 

stones bracing us like shields, the collective grasses being torn away, 

nouns, the aesthetic, the city limits, the next year, the

correct use of the young money's predicament, the bomb's electric voice 


deafening the haunting of the relevance, of this objectively written song for

only you , these boys, the light from these lamps, the bonkers

world, the baseball cap, the old pine trees, the flapping

din, by contrast then, the most maddening thing, the apartment's darkening


warm bricks, the chill outside, the window's diffusion, the paint-smell, the screen

door's swearing at God slam, the fireside animals, that strange smell, the 

endless appetite beneath, biting the inside of my mouth, the 

small lie, if you insist, the puzzled exaltation of rising.




section breaknote. Just because others have done their best to define poetry, you don't have to believe in them. You can undefine it--anytime you want. Set it free.





Bonus poem:



 As Long As These Words


Are here I won't stop them from coming,

But if I'm already

Gone from your heart,then

At least let them serve

For paper lanterns


That once I thankfully strung there.

Silence like snowflakes

Hits the ground, covers

Up many things. Roads

Have taken us nowhere.

Yours was the one


I chose to wander

The most, always hoping

To find you, and

Instead wound up lost,

Alone somewhere in

The middle of my life. You can't ever 


Change this but I will

Remember your name 

Like rain, sadly singing to itself this one last song, like a set of 

Tranquility arms

Around my mind, like

Sudden bells, like endless


Bright weeds on a

Summer's trail, and when

Another dawn has

Disappeared into

Another line of

Cars, fat grunting trucks, I'll throw


A handful of pulverized

Dreams atop the story's

Submerged lips and bow

Once more to the notion

Of one star in

A hundred billion.