Post by Steve on May 20, 2011 22:41:45 GMT -5
Estimated 10 pairs of shoulders-
Younger sister
Older lovers; accidental friend more like brother.
Some were strong, still and reaffirming as stone;
Few naked, covered
Soft, shivering, caving and deflating, falling into the known
Aloneness of the situation.
A couple were so slanted, bias, they allowed
My head to just roll off or shrugged to toss
Me in the air and hope I’d forget they were there.
Bus
Train
Seats and stations-
Montana musty
Idaho dusty.
Boulder in Penny Pack Park, sun open infant mouth,
Female family members walking dog below, they always mentioned
Stories of kids that perished in the creek, thought I should know, but all I could think about was the miraculous somersault off the rope, that still swung-slow above the water below.
A few cemeteries
Where no one should go.
Oh, roads, numerous,
A quick ode:
Glass in or on
Every one
Confound traveler’s mind
With ease you shown
The stars they find
Are but illusions-
To earth they bind.
If I told you I rested on thick cumulous clouds,
Would you then doubt that I’ve slumbered
Securely in the white of an eye, coiled `bout the iris
And awoke in the yolk of a cracked Sunday morning egg?
That I’ve broken a thousand dreams
With but a flutter of my tongue,
Passed away a million times on one patch of grass
On one perfect afternoon;
Would you doubt(?)
That thighs are boas and have cracked my walnut-moon
Skull to illuminate the room and see what walls were
Coloured hues close to those of their
Barbie’s shoes.
If I told you the hands
That cradle(d) my head
It’d pull too much of me
Out of my mind
And leave but little for
Future fingers to find.
Younger sister
Older lovers; accidental friend more like brother.
Some were strong, still and reaffirming as stone;
Few naked, covered
Soft, shivering, caving and deflating, falling into the known
Aloneness of the situation.
A couple were so slanted, bias, they allowed
My head to just roll off or shrugged to toss
Me in the air and hope I’d forget they were there.
Bus
Train
Seats and stations-
Montana musty
Idaho dusty.
Boulder in Penny Pack Park, sun open infant mouth,
Female family members walking dog below, they always mentioned
Stories of kids that perished in the creek, thought I should know, but all I could think about was the miraculous somersault off the rope, that still swung-slow above the water below.
A few cemeteries
Where no one should go.
Oh, roads, numerous,
A quick ode:
Glass in or on
Every one
Confound traveler’s mind
With ease you shown
The stars they find
Are but illusions-
To earth they bind.
If I told you I rested on thick cumulous clouds,
Would you then doubt that I’ve slumbered
Securely in the white of an eye, coiled `bout the iris
And awoke in the yolk of a cracked Sunday morning egg?
That I’ve broken a thousand dreams
With but a flutter of my tongue,
Passed away a million times on one patch of grass
On one perfect afternoon;
Would you doubt(?)
That thighs are boas and have cracked my walnut-moon
Skull to illuminate the room and see what walls were
Coloured hues close to those of their
Barbie’s shoes.
If I told you the hands
That cradle(d) my head
It’d pull too much of me
Out of my mind
And leave but little for
Future fingers to find.