the platitudes of willful resemblance

saw this image on a friends blog and it immediately struck me as something I should write about.

early childhood/ late summer life

found you

standing backyard, hiding from

the boys teasing your name

around the corner.

the image of Plath or Sexton,

and sometime

dancer.

but here is what I want from you:

follow though

burn their eyes out,

kick their balls so hard they’ll think of you

fifty years later.

then go

go

go

be someones little girl again

and wait for branches to untie leaves

and wither in fall

before you stop dancing.

– Hoc Scripsi

wanting the birds to sing in winter,

I stoop to pet a plant
inadvertantly knocking over the light fixture.

I miss every painting I’ve ever sold.

 – Hoc Scripsi

Image Courtesy of Magpie Tales #57

I’ve never fallen to my knees
     and prayed to God;
tumbling on loose cobblestones
in old town squares,
I’ve spilled coffee over my shoes
but not often new ones.

perplexed but not quite daunted
or reversed stretching out at the frailty
     and being only man among men,
     poets.

2.
walk with me,
though I do not walk so much as sway, pitch
or stagger.

walk with me,
though I shall be muted, scarcely
swinging my arms at the sides.

walk with me,
though hell I walk, ancient seraphim
in ash and agony.

walk with me,
though hell is too wide for eidetic
narrative.
 
– Hoc Scripsi

image by Tess at Magpie Tales #51