Tuesday, February 24, 2009

One Sunday Morning

The smoke detector beeps every five minutes.

You had been hoping for a word. When it came, it was “You.” She's reworking your nose, the neat slip of your fingers, making your image less defined but more arresting. The surprise of sunburn after haze.

In the other room, the dogs are in heat. The neutered male whines, carrying a toy duck in his mouth. The girl dogs nip at his feet.

Migraines are electrical storms in the brain. They are something like seizures, but brought on by manic lethargy. Whole years slip into blind spots. Faces lose eyes and mouths. Let her fake sight, let her approximate lips.

The mail comes.

6 comments:

Kate said...

So, should I take out the lines that aren't related to the brain? Should this only be a brain poem? I need someone that *gets me* to read this and tell me if it is working.

Joseph Young said...

i can't qualify as gets you but whatever else the last stanza should stay.

movingsidewalks said...

Thanks for the feedback, Joe. I don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of the poem.

Anonymous said...

please keep the first two sentences too. and the hot dogs nipping, the male holding the duck. maybe there's more than one poem here and they are closely connected.
but, i don't get you so what do i know?

Kate said...

Okay, this is nice. This is what I needed.

No one *gets* anyone, I guess.

Kate said...

Thanks again, Joe and Mr. A.
I am getting closer to being content with the poem. Good luck reading tonight.