FALLEN ANGEL, drafts, no final efile

FALLEN ANGEL

Lost in the backwater

of each other's thoughts,

from the beginning,

we felt the letting go

into slow lees and eddies

until the current caught it,

eased it over venial stones,

closer to the whirlpool

in a slow gyrating dance.

Afraid of this sinuous twist-

ing of fleshéd days continuing,

we fishtailed, sought distance, slid

our attention into the river,

called it horizon. We named it mirth,

named it sin, grinned through

blackberry-stained teeth against

the skull-end of summer,

never calling it by its rightful name

The pelican daughters of King Lear

offered little solace. Like the redwoods,

their cliff-edged hearts beat once

a century. They never danced bone-

blind or drowned in the detritus

of amniotic love    after a coat-

hanger fished night’s labored descend-

ent from a crevice in the couch.

2/83  
rev 7/94

another version



FALLEN ANGEL

Feel the mind let go of itself
in the slow backwaters until
the current catches it, hurtles
it over stones closer to the whirlpool
in a slow gyrating dance;
the bone blind love
joined in the debris of night.

The mask of attention slips.
Afraid of this nakedness,
our eyes seek distant horizons.
Our hands offer hollow comfort.
We mechanically grin and laugh
calling it mirth, calling it laughter,
never calling it by its rightful name.
We are lost in the alleyways and cities
of each other's thoughts.

2/83
see
7 POEM FRAGMENTS, no date, end of summer 83?