Graeme Miles On Stealing from Volcanoes Two Tanka |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
 |
 |
| On Stealing from Volcanoes A poem of dream-thieving was begun, of picking a few rings from the word-hoard just under mental ground. A poem was begun about the words flung up. the words spoken to yourself before you know it, saying, "Let me out. Big. I want to die. No live live live live live." A poem was begun of things flung up, attempted stolen. A poem was hurled up. Two Tanka 1 Coming home with bark for your picture, I notice every piece of wood. Something like an electric tennis ball rests in my chest. 2 Sky has changed itself secretly from mango to apple-gold, missed like our expressions when we spoke in the dark. Concealed dawn. |
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
| Graeme Miles ©Copyright 2001 - On Stealing from Volcanoes (Published ?) & Two Tanka from tanka workshop. |