Poem of the Day
1981
By Asiya Wadud
in a world the orange sun resets
in a world the orange sun resets
What is a verse not to be thought
in the oval rows of the stadium, where
crowded
I was on top, pressed into the scent
you left at night on the shabby
bed. We were both on add and you said
I was bilbarious I was overt under the line overt the word
Relax,
stand at attention, and.
Purple snake stands out on
meaning a context or vision to confer with this which could be a
book.
meaning what I just said confers with this but a licking sound.
The Marchioness went out at five o’clock. The sky was blue yet tinged with pink over the white spires which broke up the east horizon. The smell of the afternoon’s brief shower was still evident and small pools of clear water collected in the tilt of the gutters, leaves and tiny curling scraps of paper drifting in the miniature tides which nonetheless caught and reflected the swollen sun, giving the boulevard its jeweled expression.
Riding from the capital to my home in New York, I noticed that autumn was still intense here in the south and I thought to write a poem, a posteriori, that would, by its rhythms transmit the rush and transition of the season, but full of regrets for not having been able on my trip to formulate or remember answers to certain questions that had been put to me about myself and my work, I am attacked by anxiety that the placid beauty of leaves changing color out the window of the train cannot alleviate.
We’re strange features, ignoring things. Our hero
Separates from a problem in pink, the thought
To be able to thing in the world.
Rear the great monument
to the brain’s
nearest and dearest.
A sentence is hard for a sudden to spin into space.
See the hand perch on to fish out on the limb so to speak?
It’s not to place but the verge of,