A Strange Attractive Power - Poem by Troy Cochran
It is the cocktail hour.
for sneaking up the chimney, bounding
out of the bubbly, over the alley,
over the rooftops
of the human
I am not one for saying grace.
I am not one for saying much of anything.
But I will Stand My Place.
I will hammer four stout nails
into the corners of my face.
I will call everyone Bob, and shake
each hand like an ape, and nod
at everyone and everything
to keep myself awake.
I will stay calm.
I will prop an elbow on the mantle,
and stand as if I wore a pistol.
I will allot myself one glass
and sip it all night long,
and no one will be the wiser.
I will say I am a poet
when they ask.
(They always do.)
My eyes will drive home, one by one,
a volley of wooden stakes.
I will be a lone white
I will grow smaller
as the evening wears on,
until I disappear
out on the balcony,
where stars, I hear, are strewn for the take
like shimmering diamonds on blue velvet,
and thoughts achieve a strange attractive power;
where higher noon is upside down;
and the Moon...
the Moon is a silver dollar.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
(I believe the exterior universe is a mirror of an internal one; that I make my own reality.... Not your typical cocktail-party topic of conversation.)
Comments about A Strange Attractive Power by Troy Cochran
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