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L. WARD ABEL
Patterns as Proof of Sentience
All I can hear are window units
That drone down this yellow dark street.
It rained at supper.
How many ways
can you describe this layer cake steam
that passes for air? I dig deep for frequency
for melody in the grinding that cools
this civilization. Otherwise I'd breathe in
water, head beneath a surface,
begging for evolution to fishhood and
seas, all along art of
things I couldn't make up,
sketches I couldn't draw, deep
like onions.
The playing cards
got wet out on this porch as we ate,
but I'll deal them.
Poet, composer of music (Max Able / Abel, Rawls & Hayes) and spoken-word performer (Scapeweavel), L. Ward Abel lives in rural Georgia, and has been widely published in the U.S., Europe and Asia, including White Pelican Review, The Pedestal, Versal (Netherlands), Juked, Angel Face, OpenWide (UK). Page design ©2007 by JohnHorvathJr.]
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