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Indigo Hawkins Poems
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:
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
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,
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
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
crisp pearl apples hemorrhage splashes of walnut wash the decay dribbles between
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?
Mung beans and millet boiled in a skillet 'cause I don't own a pot. You might get shot, out alone, my mother warned. She forgot time zones permit less darkness between us.
We Will Extol Love More Than Wine
I met you walking in an olive grove. Strong and unhidden, you let the sun rove on your thighs, fervor darkening your eyes… that's all it took for me to realize:
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.
I wrote of horses
and the smell of grain, a full-bodied musk dull as sweaty leather saddles but tantalizing as the taste of grass, fresh and sharply saccharine.
Jane draws herself
Comments about Indigo Hawkins
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Kinetics of Self
this month I began a new cycle
who am I, and who are you?
if only I knew, if only I knew:
what more there is to me,
what more there is to be.
swept up by music beyond measure,
the undulating rhythmic grace
unifying time and space,
has fettered me in place, but my pace
spirals off beat. I can’t stay in my seat;
my feet stick on repeat repeat repeat
defeat: that aggravating deceit
replaying in my mind until I find
some logic, a rhyme or note or fallacy
to balance out the scale for me
so the past will ...