There´s a great poem just around the corner - 1

Jerome Rothenberg’s Writing Through:

1
Beginning with needles.
Insomnia.
Beginning with baskets.
The Moon.
Who is naked? The imagination
(wrote Lorca) is seared.
This is a homage to water.
Beginning & end.
The “variation” of the poem “Lorca’s Spain: A Homage”

2
Where we are the flowers in our clocks flare up their
feathers ring the light
on a distant sulfur morning cows are licking the salt
lilies
o my son
my son
we are always brought down by the color of the world
it’s blue more blue than subways than astronomy
we are too thin
we have no mouths
our legs are stiff & knock together
faces shapeless like the stars
Tristan Tzara’s “The Great Lament of My Obscurity Three,”

(see also “Narcissus Journal”)