This poem began as a ghazal and morphed into this
Life Fabrics
the threadbare crotch
the bruized leather
wrench destinyI have travelled too far
to write epic
even my homo heroes and their heroes
cannot tapestry fillNot enough
scraps
shredded to rag pulpI have bolts of cloth not yet turned
to tatters by moth boy eyes
I like spelling “bruise” with a “z” — it captures the hurt. I also like how the poem implies there is a long way to go to reach the necessary nakedness to undertake a great undertaking.
And so for day 439
25.02.2008