My memory of myself has become a drawbridge to ancient catcalls left echoing in my brains. I was the victim of a jihad. I pause before plunging in -- once inside there is no elbowroom. Inside me there's a catatonic ape trying to get a grip on his mate and his failure is respectable without being a violation of Nature. It is not like working for the film industry: he does not simply plug along for fear of not getting another gig. Part of the script has to do with a churning mixture of bad memory and using one's finger when the dike is about to show its tendency. Not to blame, I forgot what I was going to say. Oh, yes -- see this window? I'm going to take it, unscrew the frame, and ram my head through the glass. I will march with it around my neck like this along the river down to the drawbridge and stop at the dike. Here, I will have no trouble remembering what to do. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ASPIRATIONS OF A COUNTRY LAD by GEORGE SANTAYANA EILEEN AROON by GERALD JOSEPH GRIFFIN A DOUBTING HEART by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER THE WILD GEESE by MICHAEL JOSEPH BARRY IN MEMORIAM W.M. & E.B.J. by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE TALENTS by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 36 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |