Charing Cross Road 1937, by Wolfgang Suschitzky
If I wear water falling -
cool against my clavicles
and wraith wrapped round my wrists,
its kisses clinging to my hips -
will it mean I'm clean;
a purer sort of animal,
or swine-like
will I insist on finding mud?
For The Mag
16 comments:
Ah, I did need a giggle this morning!! Thank you, MZ!! Snow is everywhere, ice all over the streets and unlikely to get scraped because as a city with few days like this only every few years, well, that's the city's excuse for not clearing the streets! Happy Monday????
Sounds like you are sinking in icy water.
I think we all seek water... here in Amsterdam it has looked like this today.
Such an amazing concept, MZ.
Sometimes the temptation of mud is a calling we can't resist.
Damn! So, I take it your dry spell is over? Your last two poems have crackle, smarts and beaucoup attitude.
ps--fuck you. Now i have to go try to write as well.
It is 5:38am here, my mouth is hanging open ... Is that a good thing? Yes.
So clever. I really liked this. Nice, nice write. :-)
like in
good one
http://imagtalks.blogspot.com/
The hard choices and the honesty you describe really resonate with me!
oh ! .... that is creative!
Now that is a mouthful and a lot to think on Mama Zen! Love this!
i'm for mud. ~
I'm a fan of both water and mud! I enjoyed your take!
In a strange kind of way, mud and water are just one version of Nature's yin and yang. A lively poem.
I vote for mud!
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