It isn’t written

“It isn’t written in a flash.” He was cocksure of this two-penny wisdom, but she wouldn’t hear. This was his thesis: first is the word that, like a black pearl, takes seasons to take shape, then a line that takes all our years to make, & every word is a long, long wait behind closed doors of corridors that smell of the dying & formaldehyde, glance of a fair, fair face that drowns in the dark, silent prayers for a God that should not be understood lest we nail him back to the cross many times over….A flash is a moment & a moment is a bloody lifetime, yet no poem will tell you that—it always makes itself look so commonplace, so damn easy.

From Quadratic Silences, 1991

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This entry was posted in POETRY OF EDEL GARCELLANO, selected by G.Y. Guillermo. Bookmark the permalink.

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