What does the self sound like?
Is it like a dog’s sharp yelp and yap,
that yattering noise that keeps you up at night?
Or a lawn mower on a Sunday morn, whirring?
Maybe the self is like that bull-frog in the pond,
slurping and cro-ac-k, cro-ac-k, cro-ac-k’n;
a diphthong that slides and glides then slips
slow down against the mulch, a cud type cow song.
Maybe that fog horn in the bay, that long piercing wail
that trails off to a slinking pitch and thrall,
wave slaps pounding rocks in the night, a jetty
harbor crisscrossing junket and a oil tanker hum.
Or maybe it’s just the simple lisp you stutter
when you sing a song you like, the plumb and thrum
that sums up all those feelings into words –
the poetry of touch and light, the darkness bleeding out.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.