Half-Spoon by Stephen Mead

Your memory to meet,
on the sheets, here, a line—–
Bed of no division, only absence,
when your flesh fit well &
the entire night can have fragments
re, re-collecting…
Sharp then, the seizing moments,
when all had been soft, smooth sailing
& again could be if I pretend
this is just a white tent on a raft,
& some lovely soprano was singing a lullaby
for the cleaving cleft…
Friend, grief makes these words
some blurred codeine fever
when we had such clarity,
immense, immeasurable—–
the fine rhapsody & waves humming,
body to spirit, & farther still…
Thus too, perhaps we lap,
the storm having been the dream &
no one really apart any more than the spoon
on white cloth holding its twin silver blue
shadow ‘til
warmth glows red & all else melts
but this knowledge—–
me passport 7 2019 noise (1)

A resident of NY, Stephen Mead is an Outsider multi-media artist and writer.  Since the 1990s he’s been grateful to many editors for publishing his work in print zines and eventually online.  He is also grateful to have managed to keep various day jobs for the Health Insurance. In 2014 he began a webpage to gather various links to his published poetry in one place.

Poetry on the Line, Stephen Mead



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