Tuesday, December 3, 2013

What Is This Weight?

My most recent poem.

What Is This Weight?

Not like being on the bottom of a pile
of sweaty guys at the goal line. Or carrying
a stout box on your back. More annoyance,
but slight, a pressure oozing the oil
out of an olive, slowly, a drop at a time.

What’s this smell, lying like a light fog
over the fields at dawn? A whiff of rot
perfumed in subtle shades of rustic rust,
something swirled from a heap of tarnished
detritus, half shiny in the dampness.

And this disquieting chill snaking
into every crevice, every nook, every bone,
a silent shiver that bores like the point
of a pick between molars that glisten white
and strong, marred only by old crowns?

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