Mystified, I sit. At the edge of wrinkles, underneath
crushed floors abstract steps to tempered moon
bowed in blind rhapsody, thinking of you
twisted vines of yesteryear tow around roots
feathered sadness: desires and needs
breeding questions, beginnings...endings.
Back to the gate, to the tree, to the rock
back to the sea, to the flame, to the light
back to Two Black Crows raking the sky
preaching silence; caw, caw, caw
quasi-steel, blood and ice
i lOve yoUi loVe Youi lovE yoU
Letters Unwritten dance in a box
ghost papered skin, peel'd
whiter than white; dust, cherished recede.
Swallowing universe and its freckled dreams
crest'd carvings in folds of sleep.
Back to emerald hills and stoned gods
back to the pearls and fat swine
back to the sons in womb-less whores
back to the edge, sanity at shores.
Winter's breadth under each golden leaf
curled solace, Prophet Baal within Oak Trees
differences indifference in a House On Sticks,
wet shade of blue splattered at feet.
Knowing the unknown, onward
mercurial gin ink flows; through this heart
through these hands henna’d burnt red
with an armful of daisies
and a cup; half-full
a toast to Van Gogh’s moonlight
peer’d from the curtain of night
Writer's Note: Two Black Crows(The Anatomy of Nothing), Unwritten Letter, A House on sticks, The Oak Tree are references from earlier works.
Written for comp: Featured poem of the month