Death Dreams, by Norman Klein
by David Ackley
My hand falling
as if to reach under it.
My black thumb, black tongue
tasting the tear of the moth wing.
The milk skim of my eye torn,
the thorned leg of the locust
probing the pin oil,
my last seeing.
Knees unbending
like the last wave of ocean,
sheet of sky settling.
A loop of dark
descending like the slow swerving
mouth of a fish.
His teeth glow like lanterns.
In the distance is the bone garden.
I am wearing a cloak, and walking
leisurely, my leisurely walking
his slow swallowing.
|
2
favs |
264 views
6 comments |
89 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
A poem by my recently departed friend, first published in Ploughshares, reprinted here from his collection , "Red Hair."
Other stories by David Ackley
Tags
This story has no tags.
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
My condolences on the loss of your friend and talented poet, David.
Beautiful poem. Lovely way to honor him.
Thanks Bill and Dianne.
.."like the slow swerving
mouth of a fish.
His teeth glow like lanterns."
Harrowing and clearly, beautifully cut by an artisan.
Thanks on his behalf, Daryl.
I connect with the dark imagery here - in similar fashion as watching a favorite horror film. Makes me recall works by Frank Stanford, one of my favorite poets. Especially like the closing: A loop of dark
descending like the slow swerving
mouth of a fish.
His teeth glow like lanterns.
In the distance is the bone garden.
I am wearing a cloak, and walking
leisurely, my leisurely walking
his slow swallowing."
Good poem by Norman Klein. Thanks for posting this, David.
*