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francis-scudellariPoems
A plume should be a thing lovely and light dancing violet as it's fanned at the flanks of the blue bird-of-paradise who hangs limberly to solicit a mate It should curl blinding white at the back of the puffy Samoyed prancing fancy to please a master who also preens on the oval of a sawdust track It should flop red at the top of gold-painted tin helmet awry on the head of an aspiring actor who plays centurion for tips outside a mobbed Colosseum It should spray as clear and cooling drops out the copper mouth of a grass-snake green hose uncoiled by the sneaky dad who tickles giggles from sweaty kids It should flutter gray at the tail end of a quill bouncing to the frenzied jottings of an anachronistic frump who takes the pain to outfit himself far too seriously A plume should not be a thing of plague riding currents kissed by taint- sweet crude blasted from a wound gouged in the crust of a frigid deep to feed our shallow lust for eases It shouldn't choke It shouldn't muck It shouldn't tar It can't help poisoning that last pretense we cared about anything, be it plumed or not, but the finality of a bottom line
0
May 31, 2010
May 31, 2010 at 6:54 AM UTC
Plumes
A plume should be a thing lovely and light dancing violet as it's fanned at the flanks of the blue bird-of-paradise who hangs limberly to solicit a mate It should curl blinding white at the back of the puffy Samoyed prancing fancy to please a master who also preens on the oval of a sawdust track It should flop red at the top of gold-painted tin helmet awry on the head of an aspiring actor who plays centurion for tips outside a mobbed Colosseum It should spray as clear and cooling drops out the copper mouth of a grass-snake green hose uncoiled by the sneaky dad who tickles giggles from sweaty kids It should flutter gray at the tail end of a quill bouncing to the frenzied jottings of an anachronistic frump who takes the pain to outfit himself far too seriously A plume should not be a thing of plague riding currents kissed by taint- sweet crude blasted from a wound gouged in the crust of a frigid deep to feed our shallow lust for eases It shouldn't choke It shouldn't muck It shouldn't tar It can't help poisoning that last pretense we cared about anything, be it plumed or not, but the finality of a bottom line
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francis-scudellari
Written by
francis-scudellari
American
May 31, 2010
May 31, 2010 at 6:54 AM UTC
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