Remember the time it snowed moths
on New Year’s? That sweltering December
melting into January, a hush of wings
as they settled, cocooning the church,
drifting over the flagstones like dry leaves,
little things borne on a scrap of breeze.
Shooting
I have heard that sometimes being shot does not hurt,
or hurts only vaguely, like a sense of missing something.
This is the body, shocked, uncomprehending of magnitudes,
of calibers, of numbers whose referent is many lives, is life,
the unity divided, the division made whole, the body
without organs, the organs bleeding together.
On Line, Online: Poems from Talal Gedeon Achi
Who does not cringe a little when they read the following sentences:
Yeah, I blog about poetry.
You guys, check out these poems on my blog!
even just:
A poem on a blog.