I once bore witness to no soggy corner, a seedy cinema, or a vile discotheque
when out in the open, the somnolent air on face smashing the distance
often times misappropriated as meaning, or desire – that we hold no choice
to circumstance and acquiesce: I have become consequently obsequious
as in April’s proper warmth swallows the coldness of metal and mostly words;
it was when nights are spent without maps – roads and their meanings,
separated by lines – washed with the squalid metropolitan living,
down from the urban thresh to the empyrean glower of a slow moon beginning
to ignite in someone else’s but mine only and nobody else
aches and persistent meanings, a hand reopening
a long-forgotten dusk – painted anew with a chance never off-tangent
but always at the cynosure of things
this glass with rondure of your face, the valve of shower
your hands or simply the droning sound of driving homeward
that I cannot escape, a voice leaning in, saying something
in the calm wind.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 3:14 AM UTC
I once bore witness to no soggy corner, a seedy cinema, or a vile discotheque
when out in the open, the somnolent air on face smashing the distance
often times misappropriated as meaning, or desire – that we hold no choice
to circumstance and acquiesce: I have become consequently obsequious
as in April’s proper warmth swallows the coldness of metal and mostly words;
it was when nights are spent without maps – roads and their meanings,
separated by lines – washed with the squalid metropolitan living,
down from the urban thresh to the empyrean glower of a slow moon beginning
to ignite in someone else’s but mine only and nobody else
aches and persistent meanings, a hand reopening
a long-forgotten dusk – painted anew with a chance never off-tangent
but always at the cynosure of things
this glass with rondure of your face, the valve of shower
your hands or simply the droning sound of driving homeward
that I cannot escape, a voice leaning in, saying something
in the calm wind.
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