a folding knife
for his pocket
he kept it sharp
open
close
open
close
he threw it
back first
he threw it
point outwards
he threw
while he was moving
his target
a close pattern
of small slits
from practice hours
and practice hours
a folding knife
open
in his hand
a stabbing motion
into the air
before him
as he imagines a quick …
like a showdown
in a Mexican movie
take that
Cisco
he imagines
his knife
embedded
aquiver
~
Poem #330 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.
Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction
Advertisements
