Book in one hand, bottle in the other,
while the storms flock behind him like gathering
ballooning corpses, he screams these poems.
Screaming out the words like they were teeth
he no longer needed or cared for,
he slurs his screams like a drunk preacher
cutting a rope, picking up poems
like they were stones to fling
at the foot of God’s throne, hurling
word after word after word after word,
waiting for some door in some black cloud
to open up, but nothing happens.
-Anis Mojgani, The Fisherman
Thursday, June 24, 2010
And All He Has Left to Catch This Wet Lightening is This Mouth
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2 comments:
But nothing happens.
Yes.
You really need to listen to this. It's on his myspace
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