National Poetry Month Day 24: Brenda Hillman

I almost forgot to post a poem today because I was so busy touring the LA Times Festival of Books and then getting dinner in Santa Monica. It was a long, but pleasant day. Since I attended a couple poetry panels, one of which included Brenda Hillman, and then wandered Santa Monica, this poem seemed appropriate:

Sediments of Santa Monica

A left margin watches the sea floor approach

It takes 30 million years
It is the first lover

More saints for Augustine’s mother

A girl in red shorts shakes Kafka’s
The Trial free of some sand

A left margin watches the watcher from Dover

After the twentieth century these cliffs
Looked like ribbons on braids or dreads

A dream had come right over
With a sort of severe leakage

Ah love let us be true to one another

Went down to the ferris wheel
God’s Rolodex

There were neon spikes around everyone
Like the Virgin’s spikes

Old punk’s mohawk Evidence of inner fire

Rode throwing words off Red current Light swearing

Ah love The century
Had become a little drippy at the end

We’re still growing but the stitches hurt Let us be

True to one another for the world

Easy on the myths now
Make it up Sleep well


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