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rejectomorph

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Reset Eleven, Day Twenty-eight [Dec. 6th, 2020|04:55 am]
rejectomorph
Okay, I think I just slept for about two hours with my head on the table next to the computer, and I'm pretty sure I had a nap Saturday evening after sleeping Saturday morning as well, but I can't remember anything for sure, This moment I might be on an invisible island in a fog-bound sea, for all I know. My stomach hurts too. I'm going to copy and paste something and then get into bed before I fall over.



Sunday Verse



Water Picture


by May Swenson


In the pond in the park
all things are doubled:
Long buildings hang and
wriggle gently. Chimneys
are bent legs bouncing
on clouds below. A flag
wags like a fishhook
down there in the sky.

The arched stone bridge
is an eye, with underlid
in the water. In its lens
dip crinkled heads with hats
that don't fall off. Dogs go by,
barking on their backs.
A baby, taken to feed the
ducks, dangles upside-down,
a pink balloon for a buoy.

Treetops deploy a haze of
cherry bloom for roots,
where birds coast belly-up
in the glass bowl of a hill;
from its bottom a bunch
of peanut-munching children
is suspended by their
sneakers, waveringly.

A swan, with twin necks
forming the figure 3,
steers between two dimpled
towers doubled. Fondly
hissing, she kisses herself,
and all the scene is troubled:
water-windows splinter,
tree-limbs tangle, the bridge
folds like a fan.

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Comments:
[User Picture]From: daisydumont
2020-12-07 03:25 pm (UTC)
I hope you rested well!

That's an interesting poem. (The word 'wriggle' has always bothered me. Something about the sound of it.) I can just see the swan.
(Reply) (Thread)
[User Picture]From: flying_blind
2020-12-07 06:24 pm (UTC)
I can't remember if I rested or not. Sunday was ages ago.

May Swenson is good at crafting vivid (and sometimes startling) images.
(Reply) (Parent) (Thread)