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More poems by Erin MouréErin Mouré | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Erin MouréBooks by Erin Mouré

The Cold

Erin Mouré

There was a cold
In which

A line of water across the chest risen

Impetuate, or

Orthograph you cherish, a hand her
Of doubt importance

Her imbroglio the winnowing of ever
Does establish

An imbroglio, ever
she does repeatedly declare

to no cold end
Admonish wit, at wit's end, where "wit" is


The cold of which
her azul gaze impart a stuttered pool

Memoria address me here (green)

Echolalic fear
Her arm or name in French says "smooth"

A wine-dark seam inside the head, this name
The "my" head I admit, or consonantal glimmer

Or wet fields the vines or eucalyptus wood

Lift from, here


Whose cartilage did grief still bear?
Whose silent wound?
Who submitted?
Who fortuitously was grave?
A trepidation honest
Whose declaration met silence?
Whose demurred?
Whose wall shored up became
Whose "will"?

Whose sympathetic concatenation?  Whose picture
withstood "ordeal"?
Who caressed "that tiger"?
Whose laugh at an airport called forth?  Whose ground

Anonymous submission.

Added: 24 Jun 2002 | Last Read: 18 Mar 2018 9:33 AM | Viewed: 3793 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/4902/ | Viewed on 18 March 2018.
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