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kahara-jonesPoems
A wisp of smoke, an empty trail, I used to follow you- Up to a place who’s brother is an undisturbed rooftop after the sky has given birth to its million white children with white castles and blue ceilings, gentle cold, that penetrated my thin body no air, simple. No harsh thoughts. As a buddhist I would wander catching the slowest of the feathery creatures with long faces that came to a point stroke them The hidden outbursts of motion would send me sprawling but I felt no pain up there, there were no houses, just white castles that formed and reformed I think King Solomon once imagined a government like this fluid, what doesn't work only crumbles into something that does There were no cars just invisible bodies harmless but powerful riders of the frigid and heated drafts The only noise came from me the single impurity I cried out when I saw the white castles filled with silent ivory people that smiled but did not respond I could see them talking with eyes with more expressions than I have ever seen Silently they spoke swallowing the smoke that came from below
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Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC
Puff
A wisp of smoke, an empty trail, I used to follow you- Up to a place who’s brother is an undisturbed rooftop after the sky has given birth to its million white children with white castles and blue ceilings, gentle cold, that penetrated my thin body no air, simple. No harsh thoughts. As a buddhist I would wander catching the slowest of the feathery creatures with long faces that came to a point stroke them The hidden outbursts of motion would send me sprawling but I felt no pain up there, there were no houses, just white castles that formed and reformed I think King Solomon once imagined a government like this fluid, what doesn't work only crumbles into something that does There were no cars just invisible bodies harmless but powerful riders of the frigid and heated drafts The only noise came from me the single impurity I cried out when I saw the white castles filled with silent ivory people that smiled but did not respond I could see them talking with eyes with more expressions than I have ever seen Silently they spoke swallowing the smoke that came from below
This poem is not meant to be taken literally. Think of it as an unfinished story, or a piece of impressionistic art.
kahara-jones
Written by
kahara-jones
American
Mar 1, 2013
Mar 1, 2013 at 9:14 AM UTC
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