Unspeakable Progeny

Standing in awe 
Before the naked, 

Silent figures we wonder what 
The ancient artists possessed 

That clothed these statues in 
This transfixing transcendent 

Light which slowly diffused it- 
Self to posterity, 

And yet how it is we 
Ended up straightaway 

Blind, deaf, and yes— 
Dare we utter it?—so 

Stupendously, 
Spellbindingly 

Dumb. 

After Archilochos: Ball-buster

[    ] of that

[    ] [    ] [    ] she

[    ] gave so

[

[

[

[    ] [    ]

[ willingly [then?]

[

[

[    ] [    ] left

[

[

[    ] [    ] me

[

[

[

[ lame?] [    ] a limp

[

[

[    ] [    ] shaft I would

[    ] give my [right?]

[    ] [   ] [    ]

[    ] nut to get

[    ] [    ] [    ] [    ] [    ] it straight

[a way?] back

[

[

[

[    ]  [    ] a [gain?]

Minimalists' Major Plight

Where we retire to 
At night speaks volumes 
Of why 

We write small 
Poems constantly 
In search of all 

Encompassing light.

X Marks The Spot, Debaucher

Somewhere near the whereabouts 
Of the last poem 
You ravished and abandoned 
For lack of a moral compass, 
You’re sure to come across the future 
Ruins of the next one, marked 
By a small white bloody sheet 
Begging you to be oh so gentle 
This time around. 

Fait Accompli

We know all too well now 
Our precious words were 
Never really ours, no more 

Than our children were, who 
Have dutifully stolen away 
And taken what remains 

Of our past youth with them, 
While we were looking 
The other way.