Primrose Path, a video reading (poems from old notebooks, July 2012)

The Oxford dictionary says

“Phrases

primrose path
the pursuit of pleasure, especially when it is seen to bring disastrous consequences:
blithely unaware of his doom, he continued down his primrose path
[with allusion to Shakespeare’s Hamlet i. iii. 50]”

Primrose Path

There’s a path down by the water
where the evening primrose blooms,
bright yellow in the gloaming
against the fogbank’s sullen fume.

There was a woman born in love
with plants and stars and souls.
There was a man whose mind was made
from rhinestones, bones, and holes.

They maybe met at a coffeeshop,
a bar, or a church social.
They may have both been from away,
or maybe both were local.

But birthplaces are accidental,
statistical noise, pure chance—
you’d find more goddamn meaning
in the brand names of their pants.

There’s a path down by the water
where the evening primrose grows.
It was there he took her walking.
It was there they found her clothes.

There’s a path down by the ocean
where the evening primrose blooms,
bright yellow in the gloaming
as the fogbank’s silence looms.

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
This entry was posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Death, Epistemology, Hillsborough River, John MacKenzie, Language, Mathematics, Poem tweets, Poems from old notebooks, Poetry, Quatrains, Social Commentary, Video poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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