Summer 2009 - THE POTOMAC



Two Poems
   Allan Peterson

Love of Ornament

I have turned up the heat on the saucepan
on the process by which as I grow older I understand
the compounds break down and how the antagonistic
pulleys of bicep and tricep become the rope braided
through the bones of the forearm to the complications
of the signature to the power of attorney to the astounding
stainless spoon loaded with lentils and garlic untasted
till the lips brush for temperature till in one bite
the carved saints rigid in alcoves go farther in legend
than anyone in their lifetime expected never having to eat
or beg again for a sense of worth or decoration.


Making Myself Clear

As in knowing the name of a birdís voicebox
I am finding my way back from density
though suspicious of tiny lines causing a rendition
of the Battle of Anghiari to form frozen on the window
Iím wondering why no one is saying the dark
is coming to us like the light at unknown speeds
and what pleasant creatures are at home in it
cave fish bull bats benthic dwellers vacuum striders
in the absolute black yet to be completely discovered
like the ghosts of pleasure or the portion of Frances
that disappeared during the flu that must be somewhere
dispersed in the bed pillows or the voluminous comforter
The more I know the more often I see right through me
feathers and all my lush ideas like the island of Kuai
This morning leaving the soft chair by the window
the cushion did not even breathe in nor restore itself

  
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