I polish mirrors
My story is the collision of what I say
with what you hear or
something careless
That I’m here for
just a sentence
Poorly wrapped
A bow untied
Unzipped
Unstacked
All fallen rose petals
Under-watered
wilted pages
Roots of wounded
Periphrasis
Antlers shed
Their velvet read
With some words flown
from lips and bone
much is left unsaid
Forensics show my story
s-stumbled
Witnesses heard three shots fired
My story channels
Along sidewalk seams
It seems my time expired
That I was right handed
makes my writing
average
marginalized
a ricochet of plans gone awry
Life stays two paces
ahead of mine
Still this story missed it’s stop
Back to the pages of your story again
when do I drop my polishing cloth
where does this sentence end?
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 12:31 PM UTC
I polish mirrors
My story is the collision of what I say
with what you hear or
something careless
That I’m here for
just a sentence
Poorly wrapped
A bow untied
Unzipped
Unstacked
All fallen rose petals
Under-watered
wilted pages
Roots of wounded
Periphrasis
Antlers shed
Their velvet read
With some words flown
from lips and bone
much is left unsaid
Forensics show my story
s-stumbled
Witnesses heard three shots fired
My story channels
Along sidewalk seams
It seems my time expired
That I was right handed
makes my writing
average
marginalized
a ricochet of plans gone awry
Life stays two paces
ahead of mine
Still this story missed it’s stop
Back to the pages of your story again
when do I drop my polishing cloth
where does this sentence end?
Joe Cole is writes poetry. A good man who asks we write - for him for ourselves. It seems a seat is reserved for him in the forum of poets - you may sit anywhere else but there! Thanks Joe. (I broke the six stanza rule...another story of my unruly life...)
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