Thursday, December 13, 2012

Lucky Kid

To know that you’re extruded
from the dead collective head
of long ago –  squeezing from its
strained inevitable flow – a loaded
dense and threaded mesh –

the flesh of aching throes
of antecedent others: fathers,
mothers, and their fathers, mothers –
and their unknown lovers:
and to know that this odd

confluence of influence is all
you’ve ever had and all you’ve got:
well, somehow, now, this clot
of an allotment seems like
an agglomerated pot of which,

because your loins have not
contributed more human clay to it,
you are the lid (you're on the spot!).
Does this mean you’ve won?
Is it all done? Lucky kid.


1 comment:

Unknown said...

I am a frustrated facebooker, who doesn't go there much...this AM, I discovered your ouevre with great admiration-both art and poetry.
I struggle to find the beauty and love that is inherent in the violin, but oh so elusive, and do believe you are, pleasing to me,well into that process.
Jack Levy