poetryrepairs #240 v17.09:106

author : title
WILLIAM DORESKI : Bare Ruined Choirs
WILLIAM DORESKI : Tulips on Commonwealth Avenue

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WILLIAM DORESKI
Bare Ruined Choirs

Rain trembles on the skylight. Crumpled into the bedclothes, we gaze up into a downpour enflamed by city lights. Reading Shakespeare earlier we stuck on “bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.” Recalling our visit to Tintern Abbey many decades ago, we grieve for the lost time, the distance that warps in the tug of gravity to distort us to cosmic desires. Something barbarous in the tap tap of rain, the swill of it gargling in antique copper drains, the slur on the cold black avenue. Something ordinary as ribbons in your grandchild’s hair, something barbaric in the closure that comes with sleep despite my worries about money and medical woes. When you shrug me awake the rain has shuffled out to sea, and traffic remaps geometries no one should take for granted. Destruction of time and space offends science, which with frowns and equations proves that every house is empty. every inhabitant absorbed into personal space much blacker than black holes, space that curves so far backward I can touch my toes while standing upright As I slouch to the bathroom I pass under the skylight and look up into a huge cyclops eye and realize that eye is mine, that the night rain mistook itself for lifetimes of withheld tears.

poetryrepairs #240 v17.09:106





WILLIAM DORESKI
Tulips on Commonwealth Avenue

Bass notes of traffic quake tulips on the north side of the avenue. We admire the plantings arranged by height and color, the labor of gardeners hired to flatter citizens more equal than us. Giant footfall prowls the city. A professor says we’ve discovered twenty percent of the species evolved to compete with us. The rest will go extinct without the grace of Latin names. I touch the back of your neck and sense power throbbing in varied shades of melon, apple, and clementine. You could be anthropomorphic— a Renaissance figure made of fruit. You could ripen so abruptly the burst of flavor would sate the entire city at once. Teasing this notion of taste, inspired by the huddles of tulips brimming in tiny manicured front yards, suggests how deeply we’re rooted. If I hugged you, passing strangers would shy off in case affection gets infectious and the trembling underground erupts with flowers no one has ever seen before. Their colors would astonish us with yellow and crimson edged by pure blue flame so overwrought it could render us all one species equally subject to extinction and prone to mutations of love.

poetryrepairs #240 v17.09:106




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Bare Ruined Choirs

Tulips on Commonwealth Avenue

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