of story, for its
inexhaustible healing.
Breathe in the curative eros
the crazy river inspires.
Only a few shameless stars
remain to converse with
the giddy red body of dawn.
Be there among them.
Your own muscular language
of trance and tumult
is also the complete
stranger who conjures
your perfect medicine back
from the gray land of gravity.
Now, a storehouse of vision
gusts into your teaching.
You will never be lost
again.
I put together this found poem from David Abram's book Becoming Animal this afternoon.
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What is a "found poem?" That question asked, I felt my blood move faster as I read it aloud. There is nothing like a river to me. Nothing. A good piece to read as I wander toward my bed.
ReplyDeleteBasically I take a text, usually a book but not always, and make lists of words from it. Then I pull them together into a poem. I am glad you liked this, Jeannette.
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