4.11.2008

A poem for Friday

Ignatz Oasis
by Monica Youn

When you have left me
the sky drains of color

like the skin of a tightening fist.

The sun begins
its gold prowl

swatting at tinsel streamers
on the electric fan.

Crouching I hide
in the coolness I had stolen

from the brass rods of your bed.


Ooh, I like it.

For more, visit Guerinca.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

great images in this one - I love the skin of a tightening fist - so much there.
Thanks for sharing this one!

Bobby D. said...

thanks, Lit Kit.