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Indigo Hawkins Poems
Heap Of Random Images
-There is no Why.- wet walnuts, mellow daffodils sozzled a vat of cider simmering psalms
Maybe I Miss You
I think this as I step out of the downpour into my body, a trough where this yearning collects and solidifies into something like a plea, an Eloi, Eloi stuck
Kinetics Of Self
this month I began a new cycle of creation-resignation-perpetuation. who am I, and who are you? if only I knew, if only I knew:
I Am Afraid Of Churches
I read the bible for the poetry and for the love, or at least I did before I became afraid of churches. My fear of them stems
I Will Be A Story
I. the day began as a mirage. dressed in the garb of a wise king, i dab frankincense on my wrists
crisp pearl apples hemorrhage splashes of walnut wash the decay dribbles between
On The Evolution Of Communication:
Ode To Job
Everyone can rhyme, but who has the time to spend their days grumbling about the sublime? Who cares to be querulous, who wants to be serious?
Chinese New Year
gossamer and fluttering, his hand grazes his throat as he gushes about language, and I remember he is not a child, no matter how animatedly he speaks. truly fascinated now,
Billiards, darts, coke bottles from 1952. Among this junk, I don't know what to do. I think it's time that I let go of you, but once more I've returned to this basement,
My Sister As Myself
I. returning to my first home, it smells like transcendentalism and THC, as if the smeared memory of his green canvas coat
I Want To Paint
I want my soul to sing Like its been bursting too; I want to display passion With a pulsing red, and color it with conflict By adding a jolt of lurid green.
The Ironies Of Language
on the radio a voice chants: “a-men. a-men. shout to the lord, all.”
outside my window around an accordion, carousers frolic.
Comments about Indigo Hawkins
Heap Of Random Images
-There is no Why.-
wet walnuts, mellow daffodils
a vat of cider simmering psalms
smeddum, green aluminum, rhododendrons
childhood lore of fissured concrete:
if you step on a crack, you’ll break your back.
whinnies of a newborn foal, the gentle
moon-eyed mother: gli amanti azzuri
snake eggs incubated in manure
Leave. Leave. Leave. Leave.
simple stones circling
a thicket of swollen light swallowed by the moon,
florescent pink ink & salubrious sea air
earthy hands reaching
red clay ...