Featured Poem 8/27/02:

I.

it has been you

there was never a pace
that is unbroken. there is
not enough space.

the face of my love is
waking from a dream
written in blue and gray.

october,
freckled red-
brown with roots

and dread, is
a tangle of gone
days and today.

there is no reason
written in spider webs in blue
black trees by the sidewalk.

late, the night before
a laugh walking home
echoes

empty
into a dream of you:
wings to which i am chained

that carry me down,
can only remember
fly though never light

so long and with such grace.
it has been you
with whom i race.

II.

in the wake of deeds are dreams, written
in blue and gray across the walls of a
thousand prisons and sounded
in the alarms of a thousand escapes.

I fly, in those nights, from memories,
racing on wax wings, with the map of
mistakes in my hand, across an ocean
to find a rock where I can forget.

The world leans, faster than me, turning
into morning, to reveal a sun leaping with
silver. Pride sweats and melts, and falls
away under that spot light.

III.

Lightning (in the corner of my eye)

fell,

falls

reaches,

gains

the poet,

is where

the growling wolf and the avatar
bash their heads in on each other –

a together such urges
find – the edge of a love

that knows that poison swims
in another flesh

What hurts, here, delights there and is
the fancy of a low-pressure cruelty.

© 2002 Jonathan Swerdlick

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