Mark DuCharme: Brooding Isn't Mutual

Spring '08 TOC

Recondite maudite guest residency
I hoist my verve to a stick
No I don’t, I am apparently hazardous
To your health & averse to lamplit chatter
Where writing you a goodbye poem comes easily
As foretelling the future of the dead
Or dreaming a medium aborted retriever
I’ll recover that poem later & expunge
All reference to you, from it. It’s one of my
Poems, so it should be easy to do
But why is the poem lyric, I ask you, since
You are not here to answer
& So I am talking to myself, which is one
Of the answers
I am not talking to history economics philosophy
Or “human” “events” I am inhuman actually
A skein of blood & urgent nerve
I am not talking to the department, either
Of english or defense
Both of which now seem suddenly similar
As a camera is limited by its point of view
& It is the duty of poems, sometimes, to accrue
Else to cut out, bloodlessly
Who now by absence are, what– nothing?
As I am too, to you
And so we shall be nothings twin
Nothings of invisible smoke
Two ghosts caught in each other’s hair
Ephemerally frantic as Mel Gibson’s career

:: Next ::

Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
© 2012 Naropa University