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Persona poems: Are opportunity to exit the confines of your own brain and step into the workings of another. A chance to contemporize characters from the past. As with Frankenstein, something made, not expressed.
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Frank, The Error Of Days
Names knot, unknot.
Someone will play the piano.
Someone will play pool.
Next door the butcher
hangs up a calf.
Eyes hate-sieve me,
liquefy me. Bar after bar,
stuck in the dark or wedged
corners, cloak-sunk.
Craters lurk as I pour through
November, December,
girls are doubles,
charnel in earthsmells.
Who will help me?
I don't want to be
a murderer. You should love me.
I don't want to be.
Frankenstein's Ice Mirror
The left orb protrudes
but the right's a diamond,
it captures riverwords,
dwells on velvet faces
on turned earth and chittering trees.
My hands, stitched, ill-fitted,
forget so many things.
Still, you should love me.
all the words I've learned,
Gull-gray, silent ice--
their echoes attach,
bind you to me.
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Diana is an Alberta based writer with work published in a variety of journals The Laurel Review, MiPOesias, Shampoo, Pindeldyboz, Poemeleon, Del Sol Review, Perihelion, Bayou, Apostrophe, and Spire. She is a poetry editor for Del Sol Review, and her first book of poetry 'Cave Vitae' was published this spring by Plain View Press.