Monday, January 30, 2006

something lacking         [ghazal]

I thought I'd written a ghazal   but where were the blood?
if caught or bitten by ghazals   might there n't be blood?

the lad who'd ask about arson   they'd point to a noose
he'd bought one bit of a ghazal   that flared in his blood

the stream that's strung through the meadow   arrives at the tree
there's naught that's knit in a ghazal   but shares of its blood

my plane took off   with a pilot untutored in landing
who've caught the wit of a ghazal   compare it to blood

if poems I wrote   had been pulled from my ear not my liver
I sought to bid on a ghazal   whose tariff were blood

Husain admonished Ardeo   for lacking a soul
distraught   he hid in a ghazal that parroted blood

I asked Ardeo   what hope might remain in his heart?
I've got a little to guzzle   beware of the blood

a time arrived   when Ardeo could savor the void
he thought   amid such a ghazal   mere air could be blood

Responsive to this terse, sharp & meseems valuable critique.


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