The Pequod : Writing and Photography
 •  Welcome •  Blog •  Photoblog •  Essays •  Creative Writing •  Contact Author •  About This Site •  Sitemap • 
New Blog Post

New Photoblog Post

Featured Writing
Site Tools
Save this Print this RSS Feed
by FreeFind

Comment On This Page

Spam protection; please enter the letters smwm into this box:
For terms and conditions, visit the main contact author page.

Sponsored Links


The edge that curls towards the shore of skin
Broadcasts, frontier-like, two politics
Of isolation. A soft-split cliff, prim,
smoothed to the scalp with a vast dictator’s grip
Seems to say that time is out of mind
And you are out of touch. What mission now
Could spread its loving gospels, loving lines
Through those martyrs lines, their straitened show?
Should I, the diplomat of words extend,
A finger under this, your secret seal?
Would this, a tiny counterpoint of touch, mend
Or widen gaps? As the blind man feels
His way, I’ll read you as if sensitive to braille-
Like dips and swells in all your hairline charts.
Tie back your choking hair and I will try
And rub salt grains in your austere, unflinching eye.

Previous Poem | Next Poem

Top of Page

Your comments, criticism and suggestions on any of the material on this site are very welcome: Your Comments

The content of this website is Copyright © 2005 using a Creative Commons Licence. Plagiarism is theft! If using information from this website in your own work, please ensure that you use the correct citation.

Valid XHTML 1.0. Link opens in a new browser window. Level A conformance icon, W3C-WAI Web Content Accessibility Guidelines 1.0. | Labelled with ICRA. Link opens in a new browser window.
Page last modified on