and bodies of men or women or other animals,
totemic beings in which we believe
when skepticism is dressed in dreams.
they do very little but they are probably evil
and the devils do not like to mention them -
the devils are usually my friends in dreams,
they are kind, like death himself,
so dreams are where i play, in greasy
and nevertheless desolate fields, with parts
of cozy cadavers, heads and hearts, with dead
children and with my dreamless friends,
the fiends
2 comments:
recently diving head first in the poetic world of david mclean; working myself through his numerous poetry collections; groping my way through the darkness of his intricate mythology; do i say here that mr. mclean is, hands down, one of the finest contemporary poets that i've read. his lanscape is bleak yet brimming w/ vivid imagery & vibrancy. mclean, the connsumate crasftman, demonstrates that here. strongle encourage you to search out the words of mclean wherever you can find them & show yr support for this worker in blood by picking up copies of his books.
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