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New Work From COVET: “B is for Blind”

This is one of several poems in an ill-fated “alphabet series.” I never got much past “H’ and though most of the poems didn’t turn out interestingly, I salvaged a few, some of them re-titled, for this collection.

B is for Blind

                                                The fault is in the Quill; I have mended it

                                                 and still it is very much inclined to make blindes

Letter, John Keats to Fanny Brawne, February 1820

O imperfect tool of the ball

and the socket, screwed into darkness

of blind alley, blind corner, over

the shoulder of the blind spot

winking out in the sun.

Is it blind faith in the blind hand

of some game of chance or fate,

the blind trust in a comrade

or thief robbing you blind?

Were you blind and now you see?

Consider Keats, bloom of blood

in his chest widening like a dark pupil,

staring into the mind’s blind eye, then

dipping the pen that blots each letter’s

balloon into blindness: but still

the bright star yet undimmed.

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