Pruritus
There’s the itch: this poem
no calamine for Old Scratch’s
wanderings, more a home
for what’s devilish to catch.
Of all my flea-bitten ideas,
this may be the most rash—
find friction in desire’s gears
and write the luciferous flash.
Putting skin into the game,
this digging shallow trails;
scratching the surface frames
a rhymed scaffold with nails.
*****
By the way, if you've not yet been to see the qarrtsiluni insecta issue, go now!
3 comments:
what's mine is yours
but you can keep your pruritus thanking you
;0)
"a rhymed scaffold with nails."
The images that your poems evoke are astonishing. Your daily photo images are poems. Your poems are paintings. Thank you so much!
"...a home/for what's devilish to catch..." Poetry, it's a contagious urge.
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