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SYRINGE
Time buckles the facade
unwarped unwound
bound awake
buckle the belt
the shoe
the bag
and bolt
slip the little grip
with a tender wrist
the spit in the
oozing light
beg for night
neon
bullets of octavius
passion
crawling
from tubs of moribound
happy planet plans
The black worn denims
fit you like a glove
the jacket alive with
sounds
the fur about your collar
and you smell of the cold
of your gentle perfume
like smoke and fire
cherry something
the chin lifted
you so tough
filling your little legs
the walls ripple
in the great wave
of madness
and I describe my dreams
and the television
and how you rode a steed
in a summer forest
You roll your eyes
draw your gold butane
to impress
and lean over me
like any good night
nurse
the shirt is revealing
and the gold locket
swings catching
the light in all its
beautiful rays
wavelengths
Your pupils like
black hornets
dancing
on tender flowers
shinning
the sting like
a chime
you hold my
fist curled
to my shoulder
and bend
and kiss them
with your
plump fastideous
mouth
stand over me
shutting the
rigging in its
ivory box
You loved the
black minature
chess peices
when younger
The Dark Horse
like swimming
off big rock
you dove off
the great heights
and like a javelin
you went down
and down
submerged
like a dream
now its botox
and facelifts
for my gen
but yours
like a morningstar
full and alive
burning bright
I make a wish
...
Comments
emeka ozurumba
Fri, 2015-03-06 05:20
breath taking
i like your narratives they are very beautiful
judyanne
Fri, 2015-03-06 08:37
lol Steven
I've been busy with both work and the workshops here
Have missed reading you, so thought I'd pop in for a quick visit.....
And the poem I choose turns out to be a novella
Quick visit down the drain - lol now I'm exhausted....
Loved the read, as always
love judy
xxx
'Each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,
shall draw the Thing as he sees It, for the God of Things as They are.'
(Rudyard Kipling)