Danielle Wheeler

Friday, February 8, 2008

Lovesick

The dead straw in those trees, the
dead leaves in those trees
have turned to birds, they have turned
to crows, they are watching a deer
or a piece of tire, my foot
is on the deer's black head,
my face is in the clouds,
I kick the tire over
to see the guts. I want
the whole thing for myself.
They want the eyes, they want
the stinking shoulder, they wait
for me to leave, I kick
the legs, I drag them across
the highway, all those beaks
are snapping, all those tails
are waving in the wind,
their bellies are moaning and howling,
their souls are cooing and cawing.


-Gerald Stern

2 comments:

ss said...

i love this. this theme of rot has been circulating in my head and i'm going to write a collection of poems revolving there.

Molly said...

Wandered over from one of those frantic-blogs, where we refresh, refresh to see if anyone has heard anything.

Which schools have you applied to?

Best of luck!

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