deepundergroundpoetry.com

On watching animated films on a strange and silent afternoon

   
I am looking at Pinocchio fold  
into piles of pine. Watching  
the joints slide backwards  
until the lie takes over    
and gravity becomes a cold bed  
in which to lay the bones down.
I think of my own body  
splintering in what can’t be seen.  
How this day comes and there  
is nothing, but a dark whale  
and the tenacity to escape.  
   
Did anybody tell him  
years later, in his trauma,  
that it is better to be made of wood  
than to eternally be made of stone.  
   
I am looking at Pinocchio fold  
into piles of pine. Watching    
the chaotic needles collapse  
into jagged nests of fear,  
and I wonder how many hearts  
have heard the talk, followed    
those footsteps in the crowd  
and dreamed of being real    
in some world  
   
some form.
Written by Northern_Soul
Published
Author's Note
06.03.08
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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