Tippi Comden -- Poetry

The purpose of the poet is to think
succinct

Songs from my Family Album

My poems, like dreams, spring full-blown
from the Congo corners of my soul
where pygmies, with their poison darts abound
But also, the golden tailed quetzaltoatl

Poems from the February Film

How the Anglerfish makes love

The male, a pygmy to his bride
must seek her out in icy black
and then once found, he clamps down hard
his steel trap jaws snap on her flesh
implants the kiss
that makes her his
or him hers, in conjugal eternal bliss

At first, she does not notice him
as slowly, cautiously she drifts
then, lightning flash, swallows a fish
that's bigger than the both of them

She barely notices her spouse
and he, in turn, is not aware
at just which point he's lost himself
his muscles, organs, now absorbed
(excepted testes, they're discrete)
a wart, a mole, male in her side
surrounding precious testes.