All surrounded by
chatter the likes
we have never seen.
A lone tree spreads its beams
up to the sky
in front of an antique memory;
shaping a factory.
I cast a question to a fake fire
that glitters and moves
with the unearthly heat
of an old lover
known in my teenage years.
I wonder where you are
and why we sit apart,
when the moon is a trumpeteer
and the sun is a herald.
And here,
In a small corner of a small place,
in the world, a small man
sings about love.
While a ballroom somewhere
in a nameless Metropolis
holds a God that prays
about money.
I wonder where you sit,
in the shade of broken plaster
spilling out soft Celtic rhyme
in the hands of Johnny Cash
and Jimmy Dean in miniature.
As a slow breeze comes,
a soft kiss runs
all for a lonely girl
with hands all curled
around directionless oars.
Their sky held by a trace
scented like a relic.
And somewhere in a furnace
the rest of us sit.
Somewhere in the middle
of Juxtapose street.
Aug 1, 2012
Aug 1, 2012 at 10:09 AM UTC
All surrounded by
chatter the likes
we have never seen.
A lone tree spreads its beams
up to the sky
in front of an antique memory;
shaping a factory.
I cast a question to a fake fire
that glitters and moves
with the unearthly heat
of an old lover
known in my teenage years.
I wonder where you are
and why we sit apart,
when the moon is a trumpeteer
and the sun is a herald.
And here,
In a small corner of a small place,
in the world, a small man
sings about love.
While a ballroom somewhere
in a nameless Metropolis
holds a God that prays
about money.
I wonder where you sit,
in the shade of broken plaster
spilling out soft Celtic rhyme
in the hands of Johnny Cash
and Jimmy Dean in miniature.
As a slow breeze comes,
a soft kiss runs
all for a lonely girl
with hands all curled
around directionless oars.
Their sky held by a trace
scented like a relic.
And somewhere in a furnace
the rest of us sit.
Somewhere in the middle
of Juxtapose street.
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