like a histrionic mutant
involved in false calisthenics
he leaves the books unread
reaches for a burning ghost
there is no light, no colour
just tears of illusion
only three and a half thousand
square minutes
once the thickness of a sorrow
that is both exuberant and hard to pin down
the vaporious experience of breathtaking emotion
like a day smoothly solved
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
like a histrionic mutant
involved in false calisthenics
he leaves the books unread
reaches for a burning ghost
there is no light, no colour
just tears of illusion
only three and a half thousand
square minutes
once the thickness of a sorrow
that is both exuberant and hard to pin down
the vaporious experience of breathtaking emotion
like a day smoothly solved
Request permission to use this poem