parrot/cactus flowers/sheen of colour/multiplied/blended/
and she never still enough to catch it again… To blur a photo intentionally is an art, to catch that fleeting moment. This however, was an accident. I’ll keep it anyway, all that colour blazing in sun.
Here is my lost poem 5:(spelling intentional)
hair in coconut fibre, canticle of soldier. 48764-2. moon with a big bite out of it. he will preen, use so much water to wash his gaze into infinity, rain mottled plant – look, how she leans, wistful. we can not afford havaarti! spleen into it, the gap between, black as a coffee shade, your chanted future is being shuttered this very minute. mottled pitals and a very big knife, curled into a corner.
From Much like Absence/Much Like Missing, Day Moon Rising, Terry Ann Carter (whose poems make a different sense than mine…, especially poems like this one about child prostitution in Cambodia)
Because she is addicted to drugs
and could be sold for mere dollars.
because she has been burned.
… Because she is eight years old.
(day moon rising – hot off the press, on the heels of launches in windsor, April 2012.)