in its rousing:  now

scheme with me to fodder

it like a racehorse

and ride.  My sept

and smutched like, train

with truth-teller pain:

everyone's gone from this house

whom it threatened.  Whatever word's

at my core or yours is

a syllable in the name of the good.

C.  Verge

1.  It's An Electric Fence

i. 

Resolve is palpable and I know you

have managed me before resolvedly.

Is it to strike without reserve

as soon as the perimeter is threatened

or to withhold the impending strike

till breach of perimeter is confirmed?

In either case the pain of your severe

face tells the secret of fortitude.

ii.

I say I love you I want

to be close you say I

     too care very much

     I want I need

you and if you take one

step nearer I'll hit the current

     I'll hurt you

and waiting very still I answer

     no word or

     very well

and indeed when I reach the fence

it is a fine burning

     you send through

     me to sear

     us both

neither knowing who must let go first.

iii. 

Then is the disappearance you don't

know about, the invisible absence

when the bird that rode high currents

and knew their shapes wheels

                                               on

                                       air

                    returning

to distance

over and again set free

iv.

A bloodstained woman

removes the stillborn

and starts the laborious

     digging.

                                                        Continue   Third Moment

Home Page | Links: American Women Poets and Long Poems | In Love With The Angel | Stream of  Fire  | The Year Of This Snapshot | Death While Traveling | Third Moment | Interactions

Email:  [email protected]