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e-leandra-corderoPoems
Me oh my! Mercy me! Something's descended from the tall pine tree; It grew through my childhood; It grew through my roof; Straight up from the floor A seed made for sorrow All the life it could borrow To make itself huger Than huger Than huge Yet What's this? What gives? It does? Does it give? It has swayed for nine decades (Nine and three quarters to be specific) And now comes opportunity Mystère Magnifique! A future, a glimmer Of reward and desire Polished leaves, rough-edged shade Up and up, up much higher It is homely Somewhat dusty It bites and it barks It is all of my past It is parts of my parts With its paints in my skin and its dust in my nose There is no certain knowledge of just where it goes Still The brush keeps rewinding Still the morning is lighter Above me Beneath me That reward my desire Pure and crisp and untouched by guilt Untouched by those mornings all filthy in quilts Different And new Between, through and through I am higher Mainly tired Very saddened Too inspired For I have been reaching Past branches of branches To make that glimmer of a concept More than a concept To make it constant A stream, a beam A dawn But I yawn Take myself to the woodwork A frame on my back without borders Or shame Without quilts Without comfort Me and a tree In a rain kissing sea Cold Sheltered I stare down at the rooftops And watch as my boot drops
0
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 11:25 PM UTC
Mystère Magnifique!
Me oh my! Mercy me! Something's descended from the tall pine tree; It grew through my childhood; It grew through my roof; Straight up from the floor A seed made for sorrow All the life it could borrow To make itself huger Than huger Than huge Yet What's this? What gives? It does? Does it give? It has swayed for nine decades (Nine and three quarters to be specific) And now comes opportunity Mystère Magnifique! A future, a glimmer Of reward and desire Polished leaves, rough-edged shade Up and up, up much higher It is homely Somewhat dusty It bites and it barks It is all of my past It is parts of my parts With its paints in my skin and its dust in my nose There is no certain knowledge of just where it goes Still The brush keeps rewinding Still the morning is lighter Above me Beneath me That reward my desire Pure and crisp and untouched by guilt Untouched by those mornings all filthy in quilts Different And new Between, through and through I am higher Mainly tired Very saddened Too inspired For I have been reaching Past branches of branches To make that glimmer of a concept More than a concept To make it constant A stream, a beam A dawn But I yawn Take myself to the woodwork A frame on my back without borders Or shame Without quilts Without comfort Me and a tree In a rain kissing sea Cold Sheltered I stare down at the rooftops And watch as my boot drops
e-leandra-cordero
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e-leandra-cordero
Dec 13, 2011
Dec 13, 2011 at 11:25 PM UTC
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