Jonathan Mayhew Sends Along This Joseph Ceravolo Poem:

THE WOMEN

They have the corner
half seated on their thighs,
and long braids tied like drainpipes.
Their hair is a drainpipe
closed from rain.
In the corner of their eyes
is a building of grass.
Their smile cracks
plaster of paris streets.
When they look down
their eyes are orange slices.
They sell little peaches
with brown small rotten dots.

+ + +

Not much to say on this other than, I really love Ceravolo. I'm not familiar with this poem, but it seems like it must be a later one. His language usage really becomes much more conventional in the later work. I like his use of repetition of both sounds and words here, and while his "vamped" usage is played down a bit, it's still a lovely poem--the opening two lines are marvelous. Ah, hell, the whole poem is really something. How's that for a completely uncritical appreciation?