Movements of the Body
by Jim Benz
A world, a greenshaded lamp, glowing
as an internal structure of text,
delights in the tongue-slip of words,
explains that the particular conditions of women
have no logic, no material, and because of that
in the dark with the moon drenched
outside his door, a tiny narcissus
pushes off from the underside of water.
The implication is that in language
there is no connection between us,
our provocative glimpse of shared meaning
faces the harbor, a ruined palace.
We are connected by telephone.
Until now, you have not been speaking.
Author's Note: published in Full of Crow, July 2010
Posted on 02/12/2010
Copyright © 2022 Jim Benz
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Therese Elaine on 02/12/10 at 08:29 PM|
This is lovely and aching and bittersweet in a hundred different ways -I am always saddened at the state of disconnect that goes on these days -and the fact that a simple thing like hearing another person's voice in the dark, has become a luxury few are willing or wanting to indulge in.
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 12/07/14 at 01:27 PM|
I am always fascinated by those fascinated by words and the potential that such fascination has to permit such ( words ) to dictate rather than be dictated to. I know in my case, words tell me what to do and such as words take that attitude, I harbor no resentment, given I would have it no other way, given I am not excluded from the process, as I trust words will suggest to me how to make good and vital usage of them. I trust words, as I know you do, which is why your work is interesting as it leans toward a fascination and a trust.