Quixotic (Avec de trop nombreuses allusions)


Wake predawn to the song of the handmaiden’s muse,
Rise in the pitch of black coffee and write, till the
Tufted titmouse announces the rising Sun,
“tsee-day-day-day…tsee-day-day-day” calling through
Grey skies painted in scarlet, yellow, brown,
and orange leaves luffing, luff upon luff, going
Nowhere, trim the sails, seek a starboard tack,
We are in irons. Data is lost.
Leaves fall into wet stacks, wind calling
“Come back, come back.” Carolina Wren sings
“tea kettle, tea kettle” as I race to the door,
Splashing coffee over the rim, in the
Threshold, stretching for the umbrella, my
Data lost at sea, adrift. Nevermore…
Into the car, away I fly, swept by the wind.

Sold off to a man forty years senior
Wasted her hymen so, that none would have
Her. Running and running She settled at last,
Changing her name to Rosalind and dwelling there in a
Home at…

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About m.a. wood

writer, thinker, musician, teacher
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