William Keckler. Poet, Narcissist, Blawger. Formerly, the Valerie Solanas of American poetry blogs. If I owe you an apology, I'm saying it right here. Goreyphile from a very early age. I wish I could say humans move me closer to God, but usually it's the Cocteau Twins. On most days crazy as a Trappist monk talk show. I don't hate anyone but human coat hangers get on my nerves.
2 comments:
Peter said...
A VALENTINE
Love ruins us for love
ruins itself for us
it turns us against it
so we see who’s in charge
which must then plunge
as actual life dissolve
the rhythm of our blank
hearts so the blood
stipple of the rose runs
onto the ground the goat’s
throat lets go its little
ego to show us how
you kiss my lips
you speak in tongues.
Peter, this one is really a stunner!
You run in cycles...as do we all I guess.
The couplets were starting to get vitiated, but then you brought some Rilkean force welling up out of yesterday's...had that supernal feel....
And this one!
I love how you bring the ghost of Hopkins in right in the middle..."hearts so the blood/stipple of the rose runs/onto the ground the goat's/throat"...
Hopkins gave you a big creepy posthumous French kiss on that one...
Caveat Faber! Peter's back on his game!
:-)
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