Poetry, Visual Art, Words
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Dawn&Dusk

Above is “Self-Portrait” in charcoal by the lovely Kathleen Gao, who has agreed to let me publish this work here.
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Dawn
Dawn’s red Eye cracks open and blinks back light. Gulls shriek. I spit grits of sand in the pale morning. Another sunrise, bleak & wriggling like my son in the backseat. I smell feathers. And today the sky seems to watch my every move. But I was wrong, the Eye is grey. It reaches its pall around the city and smothers it. Grime coats the buildings, and they stand like sandcastles before on-coming foam. An old man shivers and flaps his arms and sad rags like wings. I thought I didn’t want to be young, but I was wrong. My heart is an empty red sand pail, rolling around on concrete.

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Dusk
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I’ve been attempting to try new things with poetry lately. Like trying the technique of having certain words or images repeated in a poem, like “red” or the idea of flying in the first poem, kind of like a sestina, but more relaxed. I’m not sure I quite have the hang of it yet, but it reminds me of the way in life that certain images and ideas keep coming up in our own lives, like a motif, but in real life. Sometimes life is just funny that way, and it’s easy to find a pattern in life if you try.
Dawn is a beginning, and like birth, new life comes with pain. And dusk reminds me of soft silk and cool breezes. A day begins and ends, then starts all over again.

 

 

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