Poetry C. Dylan Bassett — July 25, 2011 12:38 — 0 Comments
BILLOW-RIFT – C. Dylan Bassett
The extravagance of June. The ailing moon stale-caught
in Blue.
The sunrise blush shows the gooseberries
in my grandmother’s summer yard.
A greenwood rake leans on the henhouse.
I press my cheeks to the fence-wire,
watch the sunface crack in the canal:
My own reflection a bit broken against the billows.
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