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Global Voices Radio Spoken Word Lab American Sentences
American Sentences
Organic Poetry

Almost Sunrise

 

We waited for hours in copper caves

what menace was compelled to unleash this

cloud of unknowing melting

into unexpected brightness at the margin?

Grape trio

††††††††††††††††† ripening softly

††††††††††††† into the eyes where light

†††† †††develops into a cumulus of panthers

††††††††† gone purple

†††††††††††††††††††††††††††† gone soft & blur-like, like summer

†††† almost like light trapped in amber

or†† planets that detach from their gravity

fields, or clover

††††††††††††††††††††††† suddenly on fire

fleeting as the float of clouds

foam on a dogís mouth

a Syrian summer dust storm

††††††††††† serious as ore

silver†† before it is polished.

 

II

 

An insinuation of peach

warms too late for layers of silver

nothing cold as glacier blue but

almost a feeling of rapture,

wax†† is a hillside of barren ground

but shimmering

†††††††††††††††††††††††††† like a Schuman melody

†††††††††††† turning Turner contemporary as milk

††††††† or pearls that have no light of their own

†††††††† impasto.

†††††† ††††††††††††††A sudden impact.†† You turn the corner

††††† & become alive to the beauty of change

††† mutability is like that,

Take

††††††† my latent impulses, turn them

all into shape, the vigor of spontaneity

†† given the heat of an oil stick

††††† to preserve.

†††††††††††††††††††††††† Thatís what wax is for

††††††††† it waxes and wanes†† ebbs and

†††††††††††††† flows into eternal change.

 

III

 

†† She was not sure whether it was

sunrise or light crashing through winter.

††† The valleys are black or darker

††††††† like when Leonardo dipped his brush into paint &

turned it around in the mind

lapus lazuli perfect in its imperfections.

I waited for the distant emerald

flash, but a quiter burst than Augustís sun

copper hills of Wyoming††† thunderstorms

†††† †††††††dragonflies erased the azure dreamís distance. Now

revealed as an alphabet of wax

†† letters that fell to the floor of the mailbox

lost

††††††††† in a memory of fire

†††††††††††††††† or the sheen of an estuary

†††††††† in early December cold in the desert

††††† snakes

††††††††††† are only one hallucination that reconnect us

††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††††† to the source.

†††††

 

 

Exquisite Corpse

John Olson

Roberta Olson

& Paul Nelson

5:25PM Ė 9.13.05