Monday, July 24, 2006

UNTITLED POEM: The Werewolf, No. 2

his face is a composite mask:
everyone that I have ever known
each eye paints him a thousand colors
an unfamiliar, unforgetting clarity is
a perspective
limited in scope but not in range
an emptiness of soul;
an emptiness of limb;
nothing can yet quite compare to the emptiness of him
this transposed dimension brings to mind
the emptiness of nothing
and the nothingness of all.


Lark, I'm glad. I'd be more than willing to discuss things. I'll try to send you an e-mail tomorrow at work, but feel free to shoot me an e-mail or a telephone call sometime. euthydemos, yes, I am going to use the word 'mimetic' in everything now.


Blogger The Clown said...

What wonderful imagery! I'm stunned and afraid. Smile.

8:24 PM  

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