Jody's Notes
It's 1993. I'm sitting in a cafe, deciding to write some poems again. (After a few years.) And I quickly pen three or four poems. This is one of them. And I'm staring at these poems, asking myself: What the hell is this? (The cafe, by the way, is long gone.)
Because I'd never really written poems like this before--where the imagery (as it were) was wrenched quite a bit further than I'd ever allowed it to go. It took weeks--maybe longer--before I grew to trust what I was doing now in my poems. And even to send the poems out for publication. Because it was only after a while that I began to see what I was up to.
Tame as candles,
we make love
too delicate to last.
Elsewhere: a cigarette
wears its digestive tract
on its face.
Your pupils, inky with intent
are a joy to watch.
Even for those hungry for light.
© 2008 Jody Azzouni