COMMA
silence being plural, last and
best communion, bread
marble / dry drinking
some ledges' silence, gasping
upon starred and oily water, dark enamel birds
dropping acanthus / houses
are eggshells / what we might have said now
silence
because of water
0r where dead flagons go
where morning
creeps from to meet us crawling out of night
cheap carpets littered with used music
that wove burgundy pleiades through smoke
in a different room
bus stops where another and another
night's needle split its pomegranate sun /
a raindrop hanging on a ladder
brighter than words or wine
because a comma can't be spoken
I present you silence
a million translucent cigarettes
someone's sweet smelling tree with moons among its branches
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I fell in love with this poem as a teenager. I still don't understand all it's meaning, but I like to think it's like trying to describe a dream.
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