Sunday, 14 July 2013

The Cure by Lenny DellaRocca

There were many birds in my tree,
scarlet and indigo verbs
whose lyric spilled like iodine
into wounds of heat.
Yes, I took them down,
brought them into my car,
into a room for an hour
where they murdered everything
I thought I knew about escape or falling.
Sometimes I imagined us a theater
where I’d watch them
in the floodlights of anxiety and purpose.
Sometimes they just burned
leaving red wing marks on the soft
misplacement of my hands.
There would always be the delicate
removal of names,
replaced with a dainty narcotic
and the rough memory of sky.
They never lived in that tree,
but came to it for reasons
only known by them
and their green wisdom,
the smoke curling from their lavender mouths
like the last thoughts of a man who died
in the middle of his desire.

Lenny DellaRocca,USA


Crafty Green Poet said...

Lenny DellaRocca's book of poetry, "Alphabetical Disorder" is available at and Barnes and Nobles on line. A Pushcart Prize nominee, his work has appeared in numerous journals including, Nimrod, Seattle Review, Wisconsin Review, Appalachia Quarterly, and Sun Dog.

janetld said...

Much to love about this poem: the way you draw us in ("scarlet and indigo verbs..."), how you close ("smoke the middle of his desire"), and everything in between.