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michael-burkholderPoems
The iris of your eye Is the iris of the field Ticking to the tock of the tire swing’s Strawberry lemonade hypnosis The pupil of your eye Is a pupil of the universe Breathing in all the wisdom and the heartbreak Like a little black hole sponge The sclera of your eye Is the blinking white lights of the Ryman Illuminating Hartford’s most exquisite fiddle solo yet Projected down from the great riverboat in the sky The lashes of your eye Own the sliding boards at dusk After all the children have heeded the dinner bell And the rains roll in from the west The tears of your eye Remember your dancing days Before the war took its toll And youthful drops of dew still rested upon the irises
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Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
Eye Parts
The iris of your eye Is the iris of the field Ticking to the tock of the tire swing’s Strawberry lemonade hypnosis The pupil of your eye Is a pupil of the universe Breathing in all the wisdom and the heartbreak Like a little black hole sponge The sclera of your eye Is the blinking white lights of the Ryman Illuminating Hartford’s most exquisite fiddle solo yet Projected down from the great riverboat in the sky The lashes of your eye Own the sliding boards at dusk After all the children have heeded the dinner bell And the rains roll in from the west The tears of your eye Remember your dancing days Before the war took its toll And youthful drops of dew still rested upon the irises
michael-burkholder
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michael-burkholder
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
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