I cannot envision the elegance for you
a story fastening, cinching, and drawing through,
until its stitched closed like an eerie set of teeth
clenched until no space to breathe remains between
each tightly sewn up page -
a farce of sunlight aims its spotlight upon sparkling earth
gotcha, it beams, but no sun I know is so cold -
shivering, my mind stalks endless questions
with all the predatory excitement
of a lion amidst gazelle, an endless sea of queries,
sinking my teeth into each, I'm alarmed at my savagery -
but the book is closed, resting on my palms it's a potential energy
like a pendulum at its height, or a stone in the hand
this book is me, I'm just that stone
I fly, bounce over tense waters, sink and am borne
out to sea, I rise with the volcano, sculpt me into david
and the weeping pieta, I'm richer and poorer than I'll ever be,
I believe, and that sets me free from the stones on streets
ground into gravel for an eternity
- a nice sediment, don't you think? - do you?
Showing posts with label stone. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stone. Show all posts
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Skipping Stone
Some days I feel as a skipping stone
sharply thrown
How long until it drinks dark waters?
Spssh against the waters, raising a spray, fwoooo through the air, the waves whizzing by beneath the spinning stone, flat and volcanic. Sleep.
Fwoooo
The seas of my dreams were savage with squalls, last night, where the sleeping oceans tasted the tears of the sky. Dream-tales of friends beside, then waving goodbyes before dissipating into mists like ghastly wisps of twilight fog - graveyard mists. I slept and woke, drowning in an inexpressible sorrow, for the images on my bleary eyes were fleeting, but stained the somber shores of waking. I woke every hour for a few minutes, surfacing for moments..
Spsssh
Then awakened, and the morning drizzle and southeast breeze pulled over the hills the sweet resins of the forest, the pines, the maples, the birch and fir, the mighty elm and the regal plum. The rich scents of mud and chilling rain.
Fwooooo
Work was... different. The project is vague and disorderly, through no fault of my own, and much time was spent grinding out irrelevant details while important points gathered dust in the corner. Blind eyes turned onto difficult problems while we leaped over anthill obstacles, thinking we'd determined the course of the world, ignoring the mountains rising up before us. And always a definite consternation, lingering, of inhibited progress on milestones ill-defined.
Spsssh
But, freedom. I read, in its entirety, The Summer Tree by Guy Gavriel Kay, and though not the greatest work I've read, it contained some interesting developments and its flowery diction was smooth and easily read. I slept through my lunch hour instead of writing or reading, as intended, but the sleep was needed after last night's choppy
Fwoooo
Sometimes days are like skipping stones, ever striking the sea, dousing you in a salty spray like a slap in the face before you are, again, soaring above the waves. Today was such, though I believe it ended soaring.
sharply thrown
How long until it drinks dark waters?
Spssh against the waters, raising a spray, fwoooo through the air, the waves whizzing by beneath the spinning stone, flat and volcanic. Sleep.
Fwoooo
The seas of my dreams were savage with squalls, last night, where the sleeping oceans tasted the tears of the sky. Dream-tales of friends beside, then waving goodbyes before dissipating into mists like ghastly wisps of twilight fog - graveyard mists. I slept and woke, drowning in an inexpressible sorrow, for the images on my bleary eyes were fleeting, but stained the somber shores of waking. I woke every hour for a few minutes, surfacing for moments..
Spsssh
Then awakened, and the morning drizzle and southeast breeze pulled over the hills the sweet resins of the forest, the pines, the maples, the birch and fir, the mighty elm and the regal plum. The rich scents of mud and chilling rain.
Fwooooo
Work was... different. The project is vague and disorderly, through no fault of my own, and much time was spent grinding out irrelevant details while important points gathered dust in the corner. Blind eyes turned onto difficult problems while we leaped over anthill obstacles, thinking we'd determined the course of the world, ignoring the mountains rising up before us. And always a definite consternation, lingering, of inhibited progress on milestones ill-defined.
Spsssh
But, freedom. I read, in its entirety, The Summer Tree by Guy Gavriel Kay, and though not the greatest work I've read, it contained some interesting developments and its flowery diction was smooth and easily read. I slept through my lunch hour instead of writing or reading, as intended, but the sleep was needed after last night's choppy
Fwoooo
Sometimes days are like skipping stones, ever striking the sea, dousing you in a salty spray like a slap in the face before you are, again, soaring above the waves. Today was such, though I believe it ended soaring.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)