Fanny Howe




The sun is like a yolk that broke.
Sleepwalk through its gold
And you will see the original glitter
It gives to sight.
I am looking for a man
With a fork and no knife.
May I consult my psychic?
I am looking for a human
Who grows in a lake.
I am seeking the messiah.
If you see his silver shoes,
Please let me know.


Imagine being unable to imagine
The other side.
What would you be?
A hill so steep you’d throw your thoughts against it?
Segregated schools?
An angry robot?
Without advance information
The people perish.

Would you be a mother
Who blocks love from coming
To her son from another?
Or would you be the messiah
Fading on an ikon
Pale and wooden?
Would you be a paper soldier on a fiery plane?
Would you be a peach that has no stone?


I can imagine
The mist on the tanks
Turning white, then to ice.
And sand
Blanketing whole cities.
Torrential rain
Lifting the ocean
And filling high rise buildings.
A little boat afloat
On a blue canvas.
Doves pecking the eyes
Out of doves
That were touched by you and me.
There once was an island
Attached by sand to the undersea.
It was as green as lime and envy.


The potential is beyond history
Where we’d all like to be.

Oh and then there’s revolution
And hallucinogen
Until someone comes from outer space
Or nature goes insane.

If all the elements are logical
But one that will never fit in
And stays apart from the whole system
Without a name or a slot,
What will it be?

It will be a question:

“Is he coming today?”
“No. Go back to sleep.”


© 2008 Electronic Poetry Review