National Poetry Month: Proclitic
Apr. 8th, 2008 08:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brigdhProclitic by David Biespiel
We were not brought together as the ancients predicted. We were vandals,
Trafficking in touch and go, devoid, with our brash sabers.
Often, though, the sun broke through, and when the ratters took off with their gopher snakes,
And there was no more milk and water between us,
We were tithers. And when the pigeon hawks
Hankered overhead like tom-toms in the distance
We were tongue-tied and cleated.
We gave up gloating and hogged our riches.
Nothing was truer than that:
Our trickle of permanence, our sprint to the hanging wall.
We were not brought together as the ancients predicted. We were vandals,
Trafficking in touch and go, devoid, with our brash sabers.
Often, though, the sun broke through, and when the ratters took off with their gopher snakes,
And there was no more milk and water between us,
We were tithers. And when the pigeon hawks
Hankered overhead like tom-toms in the distance
We were tongue-tied and cleated.
We gave up gloating and hogged our riches.
Nothing was truer than that:
Our trickle of permanence, our sprint to the hanging wall.
