Chana Bloch Poems
|4.||Flour and Ash||10/19/2016|
|5.||Through a Glass||10/19/2016|
|6.||The Discipline Of Marriage||10/19/2016|
|12.||The Sixth Age||10/19/2016|
|13.||Sometimes I Want To Sink Into Your Body||10/19/2016|
|15.||The Sixth Trumpet||10/19/2016|
|17.||The Color Green||3/11/2015|
Comments about Chana Bloch
The Color Green
Two floors up, at the corner of Hearst and Shattuck,
he's clamped for good
in an iron lung. When it's time to eat
he nudges his head a sweaty mile
to the edge of the pillow. It takes a while.
His brilliant bloodshot light-blue eyes
steer me from cupboard to fridge:
he would like his chicken burrito
cut into bite-size pieces,
a bent straw for his glass of water, please.
How does the body live its only life
in a cage? I watch him compute ...
is the soul of this flesh.
Eat with your hands, slow, you will understand
breasts, why everyone
adores them—Rubens' great custard nudes—why
we can't help sleeping with