Her Song
her song is not a cruel song but it is not sweet either not in
a syllablic sense no not in every syllable a terrible universe is
locked in her words waiting wanting and hoping to be let out
like a small bird like a goat’s foot crazy and shy like a devastation
angel a sullen song with wings to take flight with blazing beautiful
sterling vengeance --passion fruit, stolen diamonds and the rarest
peaches, a tree sizzling with birds her mouth her throat no not a
prison to escape from -- but you know what I’m talking about
you wouldn’t want to be locked up inside that damn thing she
knows what to swallow and what to spit out like this song she’s
singing your name’s in it she sings she sings by the high tracks by
the lonesome riverside by the light of a computer screen this song
blistering with desire and reminiscences not a cruel song a refuge
a mockingbird a mandate from unattainable paradise – a melody
that strains and strains but cannot get away
George Wallace is writer in residence at the Walt Whitman Birthplace, co-editor of Great Weather for Media and author of 28 chapbooks of poetry. A regular on the NYC performance scene, he travels internationally to present his work. George teaches writing at Pace University and Westchester CC.
Kristin Fouquet photographs and writes from lovely New Orleans. Her photography has been widely published in both online journals and in print: magazines, chapbook and book covers, and CDs. Her preferences are fine art photography, street photography, and the occasional portrait. Visit her virtual abode at the web address http://kristin.fouquet.cc