Monday, September 20, 2010

hanging

I wait
for words to take shape.
Rounding lips
forming vowels.
Slitted and tight
making consonants.

Your story,
a siren
drawing me further in
to our eventual end.

I wait,
hanging on your hook
like an old coat,
for words to take shape.

3 comments:

Chris Andrews said...

hanging on every word. I missed Friday. My apologies.

Edward Yoo said...

You capture this moment that all writers, and I'd imagine artists, can relate to. I've had all too many moments of rounding my lips and forming vowels that make words that are hanging right there at the tip. My hands always round out before my eyes too, as if looming over a magic crystal ball that'll give me the answer. It's nice to return to a vintage C. Andrew's poem.

Brent Vogelman said...

The "hanging on your hook" line is outstanding and puntastic. I like the parallelism of the first and last stanzas because it's subtle since I finally noticed it after a third read.

As I've mentioned before. I like how over the course of your idiom poems, you accept some as truths while refuting others. It's good stuff, keep it up.