White Dust

POEM: White dust

A POEM BY KEN BARRIS

BY KEN BARRIS

White dust on my hands,
reading Ezra Pound again.
He uses ‘O’ and ‘thus’ and ‘hast’,
and talks to godlings, gorgeous godlings,
older than Anaximander.

One had better leave them there,
floating in the middle air, or moling through
the inner earth. They’re dangerous, jealous,
mimicking our passion –
besides, they’re out of fashion.

Comments

comments

Leave a Comment