Monday, April 25, 2011

Third and Fourth Selections

The twilight quiet of the evening

would be perfect were it not

for the persistent whine of

near-invisible mosquitos.

Day would be satisfactory

were it not so hot, and dawn,

radiant in her pearlescent robes,

sends me packing, cursing dew-soaked shoes.

Is art impossible without

a dose of bitters, Angostura,

charging sweetness and intoxicants

the way a defect in a pretty girl

can startle a bland face

into the Beautiful

--Patrick Mizelle

From these eyes comes

the sight of the dogwood blossoms,

from these ears comes

the sound of cars rushing by outside like crashing waves,

from these feet comes

the feeling of cold tile,

from this nose comes

the smell of spring rain.

From this flute comes

a song

played by a musician

who shall remain anonymous.

--Jesse Cardin

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