I’ll write about it for a few minutes.
What’s that called when they squeeze the air
out of a needle?
When your hawk flies low?
Rust will help me move like a horse in a
winterfield shifting the weight from one leg
to the other. Talk to me––the rapist, she
said she loves him. Anne Frank, she loved
them from behind her hidden book case. If
we had white pens could we write on your
black dress about spelling errors in subtitles
of foreign films? A Bosendorfer piano made of
Leggos. Waiting room TV shows brutal stabbings
while on gurneys dead bodies pass, passing
the funerals & weddings called off. The doesn’t
that doesn’t come. What they don’t tell you
about yin & yang & elk slow moving in a
blizzard, Ella Fitzgerald’s legs, bears coming
out of stars, hundred year old pines, what
death is like for people with autism, what
Dante knew when speechless intellect sunk
into the abyss more deep than brain cancer––
it eats through paranoia like M.S. does myelin.
1 April 1995
Spoken word version from Walking thru Hell Gazing at Flowers.
Copyright © 1996 by Jim Cohn.
Text from The Dance Of Yellow Lightning Over The Ridge (Writers & Books Publications).
Copyright © 1998 by Jim Cohn.