the water gets hard
because it is angry envy
and aspires to life,
just as we aspire to eternity
before we can manage time,
we aspire to being after death
before we have learned
to be precisely alive
each car
each car which insults the street
trudges through the dirt that was white
innocence once (they call white
the color of innocence – i think
their god knows why).
because even the snow
declines with time, as children's
arms get crossed with angry
scars, and love grows tired
blind
guilty blood
the guilty blood runs
because it must
as we scatter junk
through a world
that needs nothing
better, that expects
dutiful replication
and sex, the guilty blood
stinks of the needy seed
that becomes death
next
2 comments:
Great, intense writing by McLean- paring our emotions back to the bone once again. I just get this surge of feeling inside that he is continuously reworking the one grand poem, reshuffling twenty key words or so with his reader the knife edge.
McLean continues to perfect his minimalistic menace. These are not poems but apparitions. Brilliant.
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