Thursday, November 6, 2014

Jane Joritz-Nakagawa

#1-3 Three sonnets

#1

i was limited to black and white
rates in parenthesis
walking on glass rivers
a small room in the sea
hidden in those legs
the space of summer
a labyrinth of language
my small house
white flowers
green thoughts
sleep wantonly in decadent leaves
look at each stadium fade
the head of a woman
a prologue of sound

#2

coming soon
alone in the room

a chrysanthemum wilting
to the sound of shoes on linoleum

each time
bumper crop

happen stance
triennial chronicle

i was alone in the room
wilting

to the sound of shoes on linoleum
each time

bumper crop
happen stance

#3

nothing rhymes with me
my body transparent as the sea

my mind rain dripping from the roof
moment eloquent with meaning 
 
pale as a corpse
presentiment of the richest idea    

but what happens
my earlier conception of life

i live on emptiness
an event which remains hidden

for a long time
imperfections in the narrative

nothing more than thought  
not even an echo

#4 from Distant landscapes

winter beneath the trees
circuitous route inexorably

although not comfortable
either alone or together

wandering ear
walking through life backwards

owl creek bridge
pig carcasses behind high school

bias misty and all over
stuck backseat enough underwear

anyone's space is romantic
at this distance

i was a drunk man that aims
conjoined days willing

caught at touchy horizon
hinging yesterday's disaster

she's so pretty
only acting

blank plane
of vertical forgetting

moving breasts endless
rusty guessing luck

hint at largesse
moldy water rope

sake of crowd
grasping for floating

infinity is sympathetic
whisper of pearl

sky's walls
threaten suburban picnics

subaltern column
ricochets the temple incense

i was a frustrated chandelier
in love with barometers

happy and false
historical rainstorms

a carnival clinic
no longer exists

wind that chills
stirs my being

accompaniment of eyes
on a sparse field

backwards animals
a form of dialect

putrid and departed
my wedding day

thump of road
wrapped vernacular

watching the sky
its final helmet

duchess of vanishing
carves an ending

#5 from distant landscapes

were founded epidemics
of the devil

dancing about it
many days failed

mind from body
goodly inhabitants subjection

before the multitude
abounding internal measuring

vices worshiping promiscuous
now within manure

cornfields overgrown long
empty village starved

precarious uncouth wilderness
dark partying complected

special grave providence
fiery serpent flying

of the god
failed to control

their appetites ironic
pallid stranger vigilance

tormenting fit ultimate
confirm an identity

burial ground fearful
indulgent unto harsh

continual maypole slavish
outer edge of life

inner structure deviant
wolves and bears

captive of the
weed and wayward

follow faint threads through dark
and lonely mountains

making her body as small as possible
rabbit hunched unmoving

except for her ears
my chest was clogged

blossoms scattered and fell
we couldn't wait to leave home

i went to the city but
the forest kept disappearing

bony tree
where i disappeared at every intersection

i vowed not to write any more
until the forest began to think in verse

the forest began to think in verse
the man i loved

the kind of man every woman loves
the kind that presents a great challenge

to one's sanity
so i followed faint threads to the forest

hoping poetry will destabilize my region
the leaves learn to rhyme and

flowers too even if meter is continually
destroyed by the wind

dissimilar animals find their metaphoric relationships
but run far apart

like state and religion a toxic combination
what is the relationship of the dead to the living

i kissed miss hill
i was in second grade

it was so inappropriate
school officials contacted my parents

to ask them if i was getting enough affection at home they said
i was tho wasn't

signs of abandonment
i miss you even when together

adopt a bar hostess persona
safe haven

adroitly the code of silence begins
until the forest stops thinking

hierarchy of evil
another debacle




© Jane Joritz-Nakagawa




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