The threatening nature of
artificial objects,
not snow dropping from pines,
nor windows shattered with frost
but the flight of keys and bells,
and all that begs for
subtle asides,
all that is malevolent for this,
all that falls,
that disobeys my hands,
those white apes mapped
with the views of the Via Dolorosa
all things that make my dry box spin,
my body does not follow me,
I often seem to look
over my shoulder
at the dark detective of age.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 6:34 AM UTC
The threatening nature of
artificial objects,
not snow dropping from pines,
nor windows shattered with frost
but the flight of keys and bells,
and all that begs for
subtle asides,
all that is malevolent for this,
all that falls,
that disobeys my hands,
those white apes mapped
with the views of the Via Dolorosa
all things that make my dry box spin,
my body does not follow me,
I often seem to look
over my shoulder
at the dark detective of age.