for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.


I like this poem, its rhythm or just the sound of it when I read or recite it. It’s one of those for which I’d write myself a check of $1,000 for my “jornal”. What do you think?


now’s a sound, a


in space a rhythmic


       a phantom hand

scythe upright

in greed

cutting in swaths

—its mode a sharp embrace:

no sweetness



now’s a push but no

sudden one, instead a


in the skull

a stabbing      not for blood

but eternal

jiggling swaggering

a relentless dribbling

of words and water to whet

though never—

that’s how it feeds


a pattern scissoring

now is

a space splitting blankness

into ‘then’

and ‘later ‘    bulking up

with what’s decayed

one row what’s nothing

     the other

only now knows


a pulse but not

the kind     on which

life hangs

now’s a beat that

threatens a breath

this fragile silk

now snaps in two

once the known       now

the unknown


© Copyright 2007 by Alegria Imperial/Published in poetslane,

April 5, 2009 - Posted by | poetry | , , , , ,

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