Jody's Notes
Is this cold-hearted? A poem built entirely on wordplay: water-imagery, etc. But about suicide or worse (accidental death). Don't we reveal something about ourselves--we authors I mean--if we are so detached from a kind of life-event that we can exploit it (effortlessly, sort of) for imagery? This is a way some people might think, anyway.
The tired waterfall; its continuous
collapse; its color:
ghost. Sometimes we too
trip over ourselves, splash
our innards about locally; leave
something damp subject to gossip
and gaping. Residuals earn
their place; only the essence
evaporates.
© 2000 Jody Azzouni