Wednesday, July 13, 2011

wishing away the bars

wishing away the bars

James Dickey stood there   full of himself
                                                                                 bulging from his 63 years.
We kept time with his meter
                                                                            as he fought   the slipping of his pants.
The podium   wood   ornate
                                                                           shrank before him   chiseled by his voice.
He was the words   the sound
                                                                             he was   articulation—
Casting images   sharp as hooks
                                                                                reeling in each of our imaginations.
Then he drew his ink-filled arrow
                                                                                  lowering it   even with our skulls,
To pierce   our preconceptions
                                                                               to twist the complacent looks   our faces.
Ultimately he wished away   the bars
                                                                         the black steel bars   our cages.
So we joined hands for the hymnal
                                                                                  we paced the aisles   panthers.
He adjusted his pants   one last time
                                                                          denying the weight   his years.
"Poetry"   he drawled   laughing  
the final word   stirred by his own wit.
We left with his incisions   on our brains
                                                                               the strong   sloping face,
The huge   gentle hands like wings
                                                                                   the magnificent agony   of sincere


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