The BlueIris Semi-Nightly Poetry Break, 3/24/09 (language okay so no warning; safe for work, minors)

[BlueIris]

"Curse"

May breath for a dead moment cease as jerking your

head upward you hear as if in slow motion floor

collapse evenly upon floor as one hundered and ten

floors descend upon you.


May what you have made descend upon you.
May the listening ears of your victims     their eyes     their

breath

enter you, and eat like acid
the bubble of rectitude that allowed you breath.

May their breath now, in eternity, be your breath.

               *

Now, as you wished, you cannot for us
not be.  May this be your single profit.

Of your rectitude at last disenthralled, you
seek the dead.  Each time you enter them

they spit you out.  The dead find you not food.

Out of the great secret of morals, the imagination to enter
the skin of another, what I have made is a curse.

~Frank Bidart

[Tuesday Afternoon]

1. I think he is

pissed at some one! :donut: :hi:

[BlueIris]

2. In the Best American Poetry 2005, Bidart wrote that this poem was written for the terrorists

who brought down the WTC, but he acknowledges it can be interpreted as being directed at anyone toward whom we feel a similar rage.

[Tuesday Afternoon]

3. a-ha!

now the number 110 makes good sense! Thank you.

[BlueIris]

4. Kick.

[CaliforniaPeggy]

5. My dear BlueIris...

Ah, wonderful!

What a poetic curse...

I sent you the files, BTW...

This is a great poem, and I thank you for it!

:hi: