the downright gall of minimalist poetry –
the universe stripped down to an
aberrant nakedness: one misplaced
mole, one tired breast, one painful navel
becoming an epic, becoming the side of a
square, the thud after the gunshot,
the apocalypse, the horizon of silence –
fewer words than the moon spoke last
night, looking down at the space between
us from its vantage point. Surely a poem
should see more than that, should say
more than that? But four audacious
lines stare at me from your page –
like tenuous shadows
evidence of light:
gods manifest by absence –
a leap of faith.
love it! dripping with contempt!
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Thank you!
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Absolutely 👍
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Oh, nothing could beat that opening line! … so I thought. And then the rest of the poem did.
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Thanks so much 🙂
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