A followup from the previous post.
Some nonsense poetry.
(Serena loved it; I got an A)
There are holes at the
ends of my finger tips
where the universe
escapes
and pinprick lights
appear
in periwinkle dawn,
sparrows sing
in open awe
of calloused palms
and desert patterned
snowflakes
float in ripples over
sand
breathing shallow
vapors
cadenced gases
morphine wine
in picket fences
blended
subtle casualties of
crime
If hollowed cheeks and
rosy tongues could speak
they'd drown the books
in rivers
and the window to my
heaven would
collapse in
faded
time
Needles
If there were a
god in Amsterdam
I would live in salt
or something
I gave up French like
you gave up opium
except
you didn't
menteur
There's an empty
bottle in the riptide
or
was it full?
sorry
You let the bonsai
tree die.
that's grounds for divorce
right?
How can you fit so
much sleep in your mouth
I'm drowning in a sea of
stars
Fuck
January is suffocating
your lungs must be made of piano strings
I'm sick of
Tchaikovsky.
And some form poetry,
because apparently I've got a knack for rhythym. (I wasn’t allowed to
write this until week 7… apparently it’s "juvenile" in the art world...)
Your soul will be the humming
bird
Your breath the trembling
reeds,
Our tales of grand adventure
Will be whispered in the trees.
I’ll hide your scribbled letters
Under faithful willow roots,
And when the clouds pour April
I’ll plant poppies in your
boots.
Your ring I’ll wrap in lilies,
By the bullfrog-guarded stream,
And stories etched in ancient
wood
Will bury blue-eyed dreams.
The weeds I’ll leave as tribute
To the scars along your spine,
For stone still wears its
dignity
When cloaked tangled vines.
And here I’ll come to visit you
In swaying beds of flox,
For a roof of constellations
Is much better than a box.
In Memoriam
I'll sit and wait on the banks of the sea
For the man whose shadow fades
'til waves crash down through flooded lungs
And darken light's cascade.
I'll sit and wait for the hour to come
As the whisp'ring shadows slide
Over the hills with a golden glow
'Til they meet the tumbling tide.
I'll sit and wait as the water climbs,
And twilight dawns its musk.
And the bloody suns slips beneath the sky
To await the imminent dusk.
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