Poetry Jed Myers — May 16, 2011 14:17 — 0 Comments
On the City Trail – Jed Myers
As we pass, the broken ones’
eyes are talking—
the limping
man, umbrella closed in his hand
in the rain, silver dog hauling its hips
alongside the lady in long-fractured
loyalty,
that leukemic kid,
bald and hooded, rolling his throne,
long plastic tube down his nose,
no longer bemused
by the living—
the broken-
open ones,
who say nothing
with their eyes
but I know you.
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What am I?
Bioluminescent eye
That sees by the shine
Of its own light. Lies
Blind me. I am the seventh human sense
And my stepchild,
Consequence;
Scientists can't find me.
Januswise I make us men;
Glamour
Was my image then—
Remind me:
The awful fall up off all fours
From the forest
To the hours…
Tick, Tock: Divine me.
-- Richard Kenney
