Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Two by David Lawrence


The turtle crawls from the soup but leaves a reminder
Of its flavor.
I am gargling my spoon,
Trying to taste the flying saucer of the meat.
I come back to my disinheritance to find out where
My talents went.
Sometimes life inverts itself and you can’t get into
Its shell.
If I could live a hundred years
I’d be at home in the Galapagos Islands.
I go deep sea diving to find the bubbles in my head.
I hear the breathing of the soup in the turtle.
I drop a cucumber in my bowl to discover a crunch.



Whatever you’ve seen has been forgotten mostly
But on the large part and the mainsail
You are heading away from shore to a disappearing
A home for Bonita fish
And marlin.
Everything that is going is gone and what remains
Is less than what you wished it would be.
You couldn’t contain life
In your handshake with yourself or your greeting
To your innuendos.
If I could get a hold of you I would bring you back
To this interception,
Carry the ball up field past the linebackers
And end up at the hot dog stand rewarding my turn.

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