Sunday, October 23, 2011

Changing Genres

I was satisfied with haiku until I met you,
jar of octopus, cuckoo's cry, 5-7-5,
but now I want a Russian novel,
a 50-page description of you sleeping,
another 75 of what you think staring out
a window. I don't care about the plot
although I suppose there will have to be one,
the usual separation of the lovers, turbulent
seas, danger of decommission in spite
of constant war, time in gulps and glitches
passing, squibs of threnody, a fallen nest,
speckled eggs somehow uncrushed, the sled
outracing the wolves on the steppes, the huge
glittering ball where all that matters
is a kiss at the end of a dark hall.
At dawn the officers ride back to the garrison,
one without a glove, the entire last chapter
about a necklace that couldn't be worn
inherited by a great-niece
along with the love letters bound in silk.

- Dean Young


Blogger Rosh said...

i really liked this, it made me smile. really enjoy reading your writing too and feel glad for people who put things into words the way you do. it means a lot to readers. thank you for that :)

8:35 PM  
Blogger karrvakarela said...

Thanks, Rosh! Glad you enjoy reading here.

11:49 AM  

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