Working In the Throat

Like a tribe
of quail my mind
scatters at a cat
watching my show
cross the street.

On the point of the
ball rolling black
curse and blessing
kissing the paper
as they ought

What was already
said unkindly
was so sharp that
it all leaked out and
was taken back.

Argumentative
exquisitely sound
blind as a bat
out of the darkness
into the night.

Finally then no
punctuation ruins
the intitial attack
all the lines navigate
the turnoff sought.

The five languages
of the counted off
sweet treatment
animate each other
coming up the throat.

Like shirtless shoes
like fly and trout
like flight and burial
like fingers and fist
like goat and bleat.

I keep up
writing it down
before it bends
shattering after all
into starlight.

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About mrsorenson

all over the place
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2 Responses to Working In the Throat

  1. zereion says:

    i read your poem,will you please go on my blog..i also have written a one..#mrsorenson

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