Sailboat moon spirals across
the kaleidoscope scarf sky
the gossamer clocks of light
are set and wound to spin
along the river webs
on the bridge of blades
Gauges, numbers
and the flare and flicker
of the dashboard
speedometer
and the deep road
behind angled glass,
thrown in to
automobile showcases
with sharp edges
and dull eyes
like long limbed dolls
in the attic toy box
street lines flow
record needle on vinyl
black hole pirouette
a liturgy aligned with embers plays
the rise and fall of prism voices
could call the seraphim home
it is an ever vaulting metronome
there are wraiths here
trying to grasp and pull back
to where our paths have diverged
as they sat stubborn,
blinkered and barricaded
voices behind the accordion blinds
and off I went
I will not return
a little girl with tousled curls
my head out the rolled down window
watching the blur of the roadway below
a laughing hound all jowls and ears
and the kiss of air pressed to my face
with the force and rush of breeze
breath in as the mark
on the wheel
reaches the top rim
breath out as it
turns upside down
and just exist
as the black wheels tandem turn
in the hours
highway lines unfurl
like dandelion stems
thrown carelessly down,
once the ghosts of seeds
have climbed into the currents
until a driver pulled alongside
My Mother
“Your child could get beheaded.”
“Why thank you, Sir.”
“Keep your head inside
its beyond dangerous.”
said Mom.
A dangerous beyond?
It always was
losing my head?
Oh, what a way to die
on the wind
I want a tattoo of a bruise
on my body
so I always remember
what it looks like to bleed
and not break skin
perennial
lyrical
literary
letterbox
salt and spit
on the
travelling minstrel
A shackled spirit
with acumen for soothsaying
or perhaps it is simply
just crooning lullabies
No comments:
Post a Comment