Amorphous, dove-form, on rink;
I was once as free as the wind,
and I consider the day’s unremitting reminder:
bent light – falling flat on my dull skin.
Wryly enough, the mornings are pried open,
remorselessly, like a note discovered obsolete in secret
gaps: why would such unopened unraveling
be secret? A persistent memory?
I gaze by the barricade, children fluttering
almost in flight at the city center’s space,
possibly conjuring themselves up as birds
or words freed – such scene requires several audiences,
whereas adjacently crooked, I stare inanimately,
which requires no spectator, possibly dreaming
a shadow, an old man wiping his reading glass clean,
or the squalor of the heart decanted in the heat of transitories;
acute on the night-watch, I will rejoin them
like old haunts finding new-fangled skin to scar.
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
Amorphous, dove-form, on rink;
I was once as free as the wind,
and I consider the day’s unremitting reminder:
bent light – falling flat on my dull skin.
Wryly enough, the mornings are pried open,
remorselessly, like a note discovered obsolete in secret
gaps: why would such unopened unraveling
be secret? A persistent memory?
I gaze by the barricade, children fluttering
almost in flight at the city center’s space,
possibly conjuring themselves up as birds
or words freed – such scene requires several audiences,
whereas adjacently crooked, I stare inanimately,
which requires no spectator, possibly dreaming
a shadow, an old man wiping his reading glass clean,
or the squalor of the heart decanted in the heat of transitories;
acute on the night-watch, I will rejoin them
like old haunts finding new-fangled skin to scar.
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