My soul a Cezanne cube
through which no light
can pass
No dark or broken shadows
flickering on wall
or wind
Stained with the blood of leaves
torn from spirit forms
wailing.
No mark or circled lines
spiraling up the gyre
of flame
Infernoed by the split of eyes
ripped out of sight
and mind
Beyond the guarded gate
swording the way
to trees
Swollen with bitter apples
gorged by sly worms
waiting.
Stanley H. Barkan
Notes on "East of the land of Nod"
Stanley Barkan insists that poems should not need explanation and cannot have an
explanation. They just are.
Stanley Barkan is a passionate proponent of cross-cultural communications.
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