Wednesday, May 17, 2017

Slander by Franz Wright


Slander
 
I can just hear them
on the telephone and keening
all their kissy little knives
 
or voraciously taking turns
nursing a lie
still in its early white whisperhood
 
and I could do something
bad back to them
someday, I guess—
 
but why
 
Exclusion doesn’t hurt
that much, in fact
 
I’ve visited the stars on foot
 
Come disdain of the dreamhand for grammar
and fame, this Boston’s
gothic chilly April
night (new leaves the color
of her eyes) beloved
booknight real
real world, oh
prasini arachnid
s'agapo
 
Light green eyes dusk distant
tolling now fading
to heartscar
which says
 
I was loved, always
loved
 
And then they wounded me
so usefully—
 
 

No comments:

Post a Comment