Published May 13, 2007
DISCLAIMER.
Do not expect this poem to pool in the impossible cup
of your hands. It should stream as sand
turned to mercury unless, of course, my intentions
run false -- which they often do, leaving the wrong impression
in a copper, hard-river residue that's limed up
many a rib cage. Neither think to know
what I'm up to; certainly the tomfools with their wild verse
and drunken, brambly walks and ripped jeans
know my purpose from the top of this hill of words.
I anticipate that they have stopped at the title to claim and claim
across the chasm, their voices barely reaching
us, here, siphoning through
on cliff-stairs, as water again
through close and nervous words.
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140,590 Literary Works • 673,544 Reviews
Ohh, I haven't seen this one before.
I'm curious as to who 'us' is. You start out the poem with a definite 'you' (or my, in this case) yet by the end it's become a pair (or group?).
Perhaps expanding on who might be residing with you on hilltops above cliffstairs would add something here... and A reference at the end to your opening idea (and title) could tie this piece together quite nicely.