Poetry
Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. — Leonard Cohen
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Rib Cage
I tend them carefully, these broken ribs. In the bath, a warm amniotic fluid, I’m no longer heavy as stone, but buoyant-- empty as a broken cage. What remains are shards of songs, faded feathered dreams, clipped wings-- all that could pierce the heart-- vanished now. And the ribs? Better broken than ossified. After all, what can escape an unbroken cage?
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Norma BishopPoetry releases a stream of words, wrapping around rocks, scouring the bank—revealing. BlogsCategoriesArchives |
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