by Lyn Lifshin
anything can slither
in thru, a rat, a gun.
I didn’t think of
sun or a wind of
plums and roses.
The hole maybe
from what is torn
in your heart, a
tear that sends
blood swilling
backward, a tidal
wave of garnet,
thud of some dam
out of control
into the dream
where the hole in
the shape of a
mouth could be
trying to tell me
something
*Lyn’s website: http://www.lynlifshin.com/books.htm
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i like this, and the million or so other ones this bird has penned. buy her stuff, if you are happening.
I just posted an interview with her at Miriam’s Well (http://miriamswell.wordpress.com)