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Blog Archive

Thu, 24.09.2009

THE YELLOW BIRD by James W. Thompson.

Mandarin in a silent film he wings past painted women chalked in doorways gesturing with fragile lacquered hands.
Large yellow bird he alights in a foreign land his buttocks fan the perch of a stool
fluttering his eyes rise swallow the eddy of human forms swabbed in denim shod in boots.
His stemmed drink stands clear among tumblers of foaming beer and he sips-with ease of Eliot attending an effusive reading-as the music grinds in 4/4 time.
The stranger steals from the Victorian bed combs a hard hand through his blond dead gazing in sandalwood scented gloom at the soft yellow bird asleep i

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New Poem Each Day

Poetry Corner

I've spent the last 10 years In other people's offices Learning the alphabet of nods and eyebrows And pursed lips, straining for the purse Legs crossed in easy confidence Confident nervous gestures of... MY OFFICE by Lorenzo Thomas
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