Sakasegawa (re-run)
It always seems to be the case that after I put a piece out into the world, I realise what an ugly little baby it is. This poem was a bit premature for it's appearance in a local JET zine here and so I took a long hard scribble at it. After much editing agony (I've collected photos of the various pages which I7ll maybe post once I figure out how to), I've come to this 10th or so draft, which I hope is a final one. It can really be torture trying to make something finished and unotuchable... I guess words never are. I've had enough of my pencil squatting in piles of eraserlings and strikethroughs though. The hopefully final edit exists below...
Sakasegawa
In winter-bleached grass
lies a crooked whisper
and the moon, having made its kill
caws bold and fed
against the gathering
arid blue.
The wind stands at attention
gripping a white pennant contrail
for the river
while morning birds briefly
rake the bones
then disappear
into the famine chill.
Leave a comment