The New Prayer
An American,
a woman dressed
for self expression,
rushes the line
and shouts
“Your holiness, your holiness,
I’ve made up a new prayer.”
Whether this is execrable
or this is good and important
depends entirely
on whether or not
the prayer works.
The Chicken-Egg Town Line
The downtown built on the railroad,
lies between the one built on the highway,
and the one on the river
The world was built upon a world
Indians atop dinosaurs atop boiling rock
atop the peripatetic habits of the excrement of a star
And I am one more thing the dirt has done,
among books and soda cans, squinting for a sliver of light
between the chicken and the egg
I try to tell the story
so that the beginning
is not obliterated by the middle
The Last Days of Comprehension
The custom of reality is too makeshift
to withstand very much, too entrenched to replace,
and too misbegotten to repair.
The sun is the color of the DON’T WALK sign.
The bridge loses its existence to its utility.
The sky is ultimately a metaphor.
Even the angels, especially the angels,
become obstacles.
This capital-letter Life
is like Chopin
played on a rape whistle.
And reality is like a line drawing of a man.
Remove one line, maybe two, and
there is no resemblance,
only a collection of scribbles.
by Colin Dodds
Colin Dodds grew up in Massachusetts and completed his education in New York City. He’s the author of several novels, including The Last Bad Job, which the late Norman Mailer touted as showing “something that very few writers have; a species of inner talent that owes very little to other people.” Dodds’ screenplay, Refreshment – A Tragedy, was named a semi-finalist in 2010 American Zoetrope Contest. His poems have appeared in dozens of publications, and have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He lives in Brooklyn, New York, with his wife Samantha.
Trackbacks/Pingbacks