Monday, June 16, 2003

POEM OF THE DAY MONDAY AUBADE   “Rosy-fingered dawn” picks up the strands of this skien of cloud: She makes the cat’s cradle catch as catch can, and the clouds purple to bruises our eyes have to tell the daylight. The necromancer at the counter of Ron’s Diner bends over his mirror of black coffee and reads the augury of its steam, entrails spilled from the open gut of night.   Dana Pattillo, 1987 (PoD 13) 6:43:30 PM    comment []