Saturday, April 29, 2006

from Deborah Bernhardt's Echolalia

Her Lost Draft


The isn't of art.
Lose something every.
Lost door, hour badly spent.

Practice losing, losing.
You
travel. None will bring.

Watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved
went.

I lost
some realms I owned.
But it wasn't an Elizabeth.

(The joking voice.) Too hard
may look like (
Write it!) like
One Art.

Hard to master, though it disaster,
the intent. Their loss. Accept
keys. Accept

the intent where it was meant.
Lost I: my mother's.
A disaster.

--Even losing You, I love.
I shan't.
Of losing:--the fluster.




More poems and info here.

4 comments:

NJS-T.R.N.J. :) said...

Reality is a matter of perspective, and perspective, to a degree, is arbitrary.

How've you been Morgan?!

Morgan Lucas Schuldt said...

Doin well. Who and how are you?

njs said...

I am doing well, thank you for asking. This is Nichole; I lived down the road from you in Toms River. I came across your website, and thought I'd say hello.

Morgan Lucas Schuldt said...

Drop me a line: m_schuldt@hotmail.com