by Sonya Taaffe
For Robert P. Beveridge
hasn’t the poetry revolution happened yet?”
—The Return of the Muse
revolution writes itself. Composed
students lounging among secondhand
and cinderblock shelves, smoking
thumbtacked drywall to the world
sullen eremites, no single hand
manifold inscribed the fire, the ink,
rainbow earthed at head and heels—
over a cobblestone. Meandering
snail-tracks, the glisten of granite
with dactyls and a falling spondee.
back a cuff of birch bark, milky
charred, to decode with fingertips
haiku in braille. A spurl of rockweed
iambic over sun-glitter, anchored
limpets dot-dash a broken quatrain.
cigarette butt, a choriamb’s last stress.
are sapphic stanzas in the lacunae
tag art. Pen an alluding sonnet,
scribbler; confess your sins in staccato.
time this revolution can be claimed
named, the anatomist’s scalpel drips
aniline, iron gall—the flesh
word. The writing is the wall.
About the Author:
Sonya Taaffe has a confirmed addiction to
myth, folklore, and dead languages. Her poem “Matlacihuatl’s
Gift” shared first place for the 2003 Rhysling Award, and poems
and short stories of hers have been been nominated for the
Gaylactic Spectrum Award, the Pushcart Prize, and the Locus
Award, shortlisted for the SLF Fountain Award, and honorably
mentioned in The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror. A
respectable amount of her short fiction and poetry can be found
in Postcards from the Province of Hyphens and Singing
Innocence and Experience (Prime Books). She
master's degree in Classical Studies from Brandeis University
and has done graduate work at
Poem © 2008 Sonya Taaffe.