by strannikov
a ruminating marsupial? if so,
I guess I'd be a kangaroo, the cud soured
and pasted to the tongue, too little too much
to digest, a month's worth of food in a week,
nutritive prowess expired a year ago―
my tail is dragging, I'm too wobbly to hop!
marsupial rumination? what's it worth?
so much has grown wrong, our abysses lift up
to greet us with black yawns, treadmills at full stop:
my teeth are empty, don't expect me to speak―
“organism”, “mechanism”―they're distinct?
= = = = =
(52)
a drunken reverie each and every day
though no season or year can stand still:
another moment, and you're under the dirt!
(never again any sunburn threat)
the bones of your body melt into earth,
the breath of your spirit ebbs into air:
there, even tongue, jaws, and teeth of steel
won't equip you to read Lao or Zhuang.
3
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Our Australian friends (among others) are having a(nother) nasty summer of heat, drought, and raging floods. Our summer arrives in short months.
#52 is Han-shan's, by Red Pine's numbering, with renewed thanks to all.
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Worth a fave just for this: "the bones of your body melt into earth,
the breath of your spirit ebbs into air"
Fine work.
Like Gary said. Mathew too. Bravo!
The last two lines of "52" are especially strong.