A Poem I Didn’t Write
Ecstatic
Joy, use me like a whore.
Turn me inside out like Donne
Desried God to do with him.
Show me some muscle,
Sunlight on black stone.
Coldcock me about the head
Till I moan like a bell, low
As the one Goya could hear
Through the walls of
Qunita del Sordo.
Tie me up to the stocks Puritains
Handled so well in Boston streets.
Don’t let me down. I bet
You to use all your know-how
In one throttle. Please, good God,
Put everything into your swing.
Yusef Komunyakaa
Hey, I have that book! But I’ve never read it. Required reading, or something you chose?
emily said this on August 20th, 2007 at 11:53 pm
I bought it a year or two ago, never got around to reading it, then added it to my annotations list, and now can’t put it down. Savoring the last 7 poems. . . though I already started writing the annotation of course.
MEH said this on August 21st, 2007 at 8:53 pm