by Mark Fleury
Like a kite, or an apple,
We tried to be separate from each other,
To have our own bodies and breaths.
But your sun dawned in our shared heart.
Just as the shadow of the sun's orb is always here,
The inside of my poem-shaped mask is held against
My face with enough glowing glue to include everyone.
My real face is the syllable's inner light
Before it manifests as speech: tender, sentient body, protected.
It's when the top leaf of a tree is the last to fall,
And its blood is the ink in a typewriter. The paper,
A child of another tree, changes from an autumn sunset
To how this planet Earth is the shadow
That can only leave language from inside it.
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Mark Fleury lives in St. Paul Minnesota. He has recently had poems published in Altered Scale, Clockwise Cat, Counterexample Poetics, Medulla Review, ditch, UFO Gigolo and The Original Van Gogh's Ear Anthology. Mark is also the author of one chapbook and three full-length poetry books, published through Scars Publications and Design. Mark also has poems forthcoming in Versus Literary Journal.
1 comment:
I have just recently been introduced to the poetry of Charles Olson, although I feel I knew it in another life. I enjoyed this homage very much.
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