The Coroner's Report


Cause of death: confusion. Not from an official disorder, the one that makes you forget to swallow or like the sunset or recall your bank code or find your way home. Nor do I mean the dither of a Sunday afternoon. Or Mondayís tangle. Or a bank holidayís abstruseness. The imbroglio of divorce. The fracas of mermaids. The bramble bush of genre. The roller-derby of your face and how, mirrored, it rounds the track, jams and blocks differently each day. The addle of menís silence after their kingdoms have come, their will done on earth as it is impossible to say just what they mean, like Prufrock. (Why donít you wear a true frock, Prufrock?) I mean the species of confusion that makes you long to leap in the lake, search for rocks to laden your pockets. If only you recalled which lake but does it matter, does it?


arranges whatever pieces come her way.
 

Published On: July 1, 2018
Permanent Location: http://www.forgetmagazine.com/070118c.htm





Volume 10, Issue 1
  July 1, 2018


Canada Day




The graveyard
tradition of poetry

Jeanette Lynes


Cottage Scene
Jeanette Lynes


The Coroner's report
Jeanette Lynes


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