De morituris nihil nisi.
Searching for Zany’s bones
among the elegies of Beckett –
for elegies is what they are, after all,
I find only
the black firmament of Artemesium,
bronze which has taken
as its cloak
the satellite traced silk of night.
adieu ocelot asteroid, adieu jardin de la fée verte,
adieu ragged claws.
Every fable has a moral,
and if you visit the house
of second thoughts
you will find me there
over a virgin cube of sugar,
adding one more entry
to the comprehensive list
of solitary animals.
Was that not, after all, Socrates’ dream?
A day and a life
before the ice finally freezes for good
on the coldest night of the year.
I saw a picture of a country cut off from any color - Ahmed Badr The world is complete books demand limits - Barrett Watten Only the compass, keeping hope alive stuttered on - In Kildare, she baked with soda the broad hem of a winter cloud suffused the choppy bay with the grizzled flour of glowering north east exposure. I laid stone by stone fitting each piece until winter became a warmth that set us apart. Each fact was a shrill bird in the cornice above ornamental brick. Set it down now, the pitcher gurgling with milk fresh from the brown jersey who turned to stare with eyes so startled at the new dairy maid. When I speak, I speak with the voice of a stranger to my times. the window is just a tiny crumb. If only it were more than a lozenge, a silence of color an octave of the sintering wind.
About the author
Charlie Rose lives in the Boston area and has featured at Stone Soup and read on the open mic at the Cantab lounge. He has poems published by Amethyst and Arsenic online journal, and he has participated in the Brighton Word Factory writing group and the DIY MFA. He has also written a steam punk epic poem called Coin of the Realm.