W.M. Rivera Poems
|1.||Magritte And This Morning Bewick's Wren||8/22/2014|
|2.||Opening Blinds In The Dark||4/26/2015|
|6.||The Sun Goes Off||8/6/2012|
|7.||After Hurricane Katrina, Words For My Grandmother||4/6/2014|
Comments about W.M. Rivera
Verhaeren crushed rushing to board a train.
Rilke's agony pricked by a garden's thorn.
It's not the unexpected haunts us.
The source of our sorrows is what's known:
the inexorable cut-off from meaning,
how seasons turn, what openings disclose,
the vistas of departing trains,
the smallest cut that kills, amazing
how sameness changes.
I recollect O'Hara, a ruptured liver,
struck by a dune buggy.
No, it's not the unexpected. What's meant
is the devil in the flesh, ...