Monday, April 15, 2013

Two poems by David McLean

the cow who wept

the cow who wept was tortured by nighttime
and the secrecy of cheese,
sneaking to the bathroom
whenever she needed to

and they were surfing
in America, apparently,
they were living;
the cow sat like Jesus, weeping


the corpse of the town

the town lies on its broken back
stretched out over the land,
which is dressed like an undertaker
today, which is considering worms
in particular, considering the general exigencies
of living, a charming cancer
flourishing in every corner
and mourning bells always tolling
somewhere, no live bodies
left to listen, just sluttish nature
and her sublime indifference

the corpse of the town lies
here like a sweaty obligation,
the sun shines slightly,
but it is evidently faking it,
light is meaningless

Author bio: 

David McLean is from Wales but has lived in Sweden since 1987. He lives there with partner, dogs and cats. In addition to six chapbooks, McLean is the author of three full-length poetry collections: CADAVER’S DANCE (Whistling Shade Press, 2008), PUSHING LEMMINGS (Erbacce Press, 2009), and LAUGHING AT FUNERALS (Epic Rites Press, 2010). His first novel HENRIETTA REMEMBERS is coming in 2014. More information about McLean can be found at his blog

1 comment:

Michelle Greenblatt said... always, David. These are gorgeous