"saunter" poems
Drifting back to the ocean
like it never even happened
unraveled dreams washed clean
crystalline renaissance bestowed
by wind mountain spring waters
rising from the heart
of mother earth
A remnant light glows deeply
of one love's untamed wonders
an unfastened feather glides abandoned
rushing waters floating
alighting pilgrim blissfully sails on
stranded without wings
a fallen wild feather free as bird
wanting a place to be let free
Sun in the summer air
wind in buoyant feathered hair
softly dancing upon
wild river restless ripples
to feel the love of holding on
adrift asunder whence it touched on
destiny's far-reaching
journey yonder
holding onto flowing rivers
rolling towards the sea
The incoming tidal waters blossom
surge to greet wind river's gentle saunter
converging slackening passage
salt on feral feathered fragments
arousing currents babbling swirl
imbibed by the impassioned sea
Wild rivers' born intentions
a different kind of drifting passage
to kiss the distant horizon
where the sown sunlight settles
submerged in shoreless ocean waters
to be free all at sea at last
someone you used to know 2017
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
To the girl who will one day take my last name
I want to tell you that you look beautiful,
Beautiful like in the way the summer sun bends around the north pole because it refuses to set its constant and lasting
Just like the way my heart jumped the moment i saw you for the first time and it has refused to come down
Everytime since, when i see you, although i have never been much of a dreamer, i daydream about all the things i want to do to you like...
Make you smile... or blush
So that my daydreams will have the perfect backdrop of love to memorize your every freckle, and then i want to drink the smile i put on your face beause i know it is the only thing that can quench my thirst
I want to tell you that I want to learn ballet, just so i can catch you everytime you jump and make sure that ill never let you fall... unless it's for me...
I want to learn to draw
Because I want to draw my way into your life, van gogh my way into your past present and future, i want to spend my whole life with you, and on your dying day i want to roundhouse kick death for even thinking of taking you away from me
But most of all i want to make you... happy
Happy in a way that is unexplainable
Like why do birds suddenly appear everytime you are near
It would be to easy to say that just like me they long to be close to you
And i want it to be unexpected like when you fall asleep after a long day
Slowely at first and then it engulfs you completely
I want to tell you that I want you to be able to feel the sunlights warm caress even on the darkest of days
And on days when you can't see the stars in the night sky
I will cut stars out of my paper heart
Even though they always seem to rip when held in hands that aren't careful enough
and then I want to hang them from your ceiling
So you will always have something beautiful to look at
And if you would just notice me I promise that I can love you like that...
But instead when I finally noticed that you caught me staring at you about 15 minutes ago... I opened my mouth and instead of all the soliloquies that dance through my head whenever you saunter into a room all that came out was hi.....
I think it was a good start.
Apr 6, 2014
Apr 6, 2014 at 1:55 PM UTC
Look, stranger, at this island now
The leaping light for your delight discovers,
Stand stable here
And silent be,
That through the channels of the ear
May wander like a river
The swaying sound of the sea.
Here at the small field's ending pause
Where the chalk wall falls to the foam, and its tall ledges
Oppose the pluck
And knock of the tide,
And the shingle scrambles after the ****
ing surf,
and the gull lodges
A moment on its sheer side.
Far off like floating seeds the ships
Diverge on urgent voluntary errands;
And the full view
Indeed may enter
And move in memory as now these clouds do,
That pass the harbour mirror
And all the summer through the water saunter.
10.8k
Her warm words wash over me like a dope fiend daze... other voices boorishly buzz a cackle cacophony. At best they are the background noise of your existence.
bit players (endless layers) as she comes my way
**Your body pixilates in an ******* focus**, it bends, projects all else slowly into your frame, the deja vu of ****** tunnel vision. I struggle to speak as I stand before you.
All others condemned, reduced to extras in a celluloid daydream
they are arrayed for your adornment
set pieces that surround you in the cinema that is your daily divine saunter
body sacramental (those around you incidental) as she walks away
The subtext, the reflex, the ambivalent, ambient lighting
means nothing without you
**my arc, my carnal ******
any other epilogue is dystopian
cdh
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 5:25 AM UTC
Once at a halcyon sea thee dare glance,
And you'll see her smiling vivaciously
To render eyes of thine into a trance
By lullabies crooned rhythmically.
And if thee dare saunter by the shoreline
Upon a shingly beach in a brisk breeze,
Kissed by glassy waves you'll feel so fine,
For in mist of joy shalt thy worries freeze;
Yet if thee stroll by a fine golden day
With heaven's eye fairly raining her light,
It'll betoken joy to forever stay
Like of a bird upon her maiden flight.
**In sweet delight it'll thus dawn upon thee,
For nothing smiles than a halcyon sea.**
#Decasyllabic
#Attempt at a Shakespearean sonnet
Kikodinho Edward Alexandros. 7th.Dec.2017. Jumeirah, Dubai.
Dec 6, 2017
Dec 6, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
The beauty in a bow will only show
the rancid flavor it musters when it opens it's throat .
With bland intentions of subjects but loud quirks , its grey eyes will shower you with gloat.
Sheepish , arched lips will saunter you a hiss.
Your pupils get lighter and the lies get higher.
Fond of their beauty in substance of looks , only will you find the meaning in books.
Will you rattle a smile on a hook when your success won battle with your humble good looks.
The vain that slithers out of your mouth wont be a match for whats out and about.
Check again looks don't overcome meaning but meaning overcomes gleaming .
So give me a higher reason for not being to dreamy?
Self-centered, no i remember , it's not the center in my last November.
Last time i checked the cab looked its best on the exterior and on the inside lacked of a barrier.
Now look again at the vain heart , covered with smudges and a bland start.
Look in deeper all you talked was about you, i checked again and please don't lie and tell me it isn't true.
i'm insane and you are too , if one is narcissistic then baby its you.
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
I've been searching these deserts
I've been rummaging through my closet
I've been eating more than usual
I've been spontaneously bursting into laughter
I've been attentive
I've been regularly missing taking my anti-depressants
I've been crying hard all at once (expectedly)
I've been very extremely me
This is okay - this is okay
Thank you life
I'm okay.
I'm at this airport and it's like a chorus
The people go up the ramps
Fly away for 3 days like Horus
The returner's come home now
Waiting families embrace them with love
Jumbo jets zoom outside these giant windows
Visitors, excitedly saunter
Into this new and open place...
And this is okay
Thank you, thank you airport
I'm okay.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 10:36 PM UTC
Prepubescent voices
crawl back and forth
A squeaking, scratching chorus of topics
unbeknownst to the speaker
Meaningless sounds produced just to be heard
Drowned out by the unfortunately undeafening silence
of headphones plugged into nothing
Misdirected words, hidden insults, skewed meanings
Subtle bullying pretends to be older and wiser
when it is terrified of new things
Gay, **** emo, **** laughter
Because the body is hilarious
Crowded faces: authority is buried under the splotchy noise
Enter swear here _ _ _ _ _ _ _.
Because ****** is an address
And “You have no friends” is just kidding
“Go **** yourself” is love
Outward rudeness to the man who puts himself though it daily
An example for the even less learned
7-year-old cursing
Because ******* means nothing to them
or anyone else.
Sit down because there are seats
Look in my eyes, taken back immediately
stupidity realized in a golden split second of mortification
Split second passes now with more phantom confidence
One by one skip, saunter, slither down three steps
Yellow noise recedes not fast enough
Obnoxious created by too much television
And its weird to be gay, and gay to be weird
Unacceptable open windows to normality
Jack my swag
Kindly,
Will you please shut the f* * * up.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 10:10 PM UTC
It would be when the air would feel like silk or like the hues were almost brighter.
It was when the hills felt lower and the low felt lighter.
In the speckles of day when I would sing to the tune of another’s brass,
Somehow my daydreams would still hold a conversation with you.
You’d saunter in with kindness and class;
The kind of attitude that sometimes I wish I had.
Your tone and diction were hard to imagine,
They lacked the luster and the passion.
They were all the corridors to every phrase.
They were all the oddities I wanted to praise.
I can feel the wax melt from my wings with just the thought of knowing you in abundance.
You are a Sun to my sand with a depth I should never learn.
You’re a distance that feels relaxed and at a level I could never convince.
At your hand would I bloom into my hyacinth petals or would my roots begin to rot?
Would I compliment your warmth by offering a place to rest or would my minerals begin to harden into a glass for my next cathedral?
It’s necessity the keeps the unknown locked in a mental maze that which I have mending to wrought.
Still, my stargazing will end when I fall.
Those feathers left to remind me of how little about you I’ve ever actually known;
And yet how bittersweet to imagine having ever flown.
May 31, 2022
May 31, 2022 at 10:29 PM UTC
I am a dramatized china doll,
but I never rouge my knees.
The MC introduces me as Scarlett.
Lulu embraces me as we saunter
off the platform. Whistles follow my footsteps
digging into my brain, fermenting,
to strong wine.
Gentlemen enter the club to leer
at cabaret girls dancing in lace.
Some are drawn to the boys of the club,
the ones in the dark corners with kohl-rimmed
eyes and eager kisses.
From their seats in the dimness, the audience
fails to notice rips in my blouse, cigarette
butts smudged out in the wings. No one
sees the ***** face powder spread out
among the lighted mirrors, overused,
my own makeup dried out.
Their giggles and applause keep
the club alive, filled with dead
grins from dinner to dawn.
Drum roll—my turn.
We rid them of their troubles.
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 9:40 PM UTC
how come my projection is ignored
your eyes, like high beams, flash over my existence
scattering my photons/my waves
in exchange for your bright/white clean/canvas
you wander through these halls flitting from picture to picture to picture
fitting yourself to each
scene and visual style
discarding the ones irrelevant/inconsequential
like me, tossed aside
connections- but how deep
what soil does your friendship take root in?
in experiences/morals/ideologies/pasts
or is it simply a necessity
a validation
that you exist
but why don’t i fit into your
equation/picture/life?
You want to laugh and I want to hear you
i don’t get it
i wish i did
you look at me and you look at you and you look at the boy standing there
and somehow you laugh at his smile
you talk with his persona
you walk with his saunter
and here i am passing the other way, looking/writing down
your validation
in these words i will capture your
reality/aura/matter/existence
so that you won’t be forgotten
like his smile/persona/saunter
and my projection/
photons/
waves/
equation/
picture/
life?/
reailty/
aura/
matter/
existence/
is anybody out there writing
for me?
Aug 3, 2014
Aug 3, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
The lines were crisp, clean
Just the way you planned
And I,
I was the round peg
That just wouldn't fit into your square hole
Your dignified manner
Made me chuckle at first
Until it turned you cold
Now
I feel sick when you saunter on by
Forgetting, that you
Did once love me
Nov 8, 2011
Nov 8, 2011 at 12:34 AM UTC
The smell of a spring rain
settling on the earth
is the smell of life anew.
At the window, I sit with a book,
both cracked,
cooled by the alfresco air seeping through,
and tiny droplets glissando down the pane.
The pitter-patter of a soft rain
falling to the parched earth
is the sound of life replenished.
At the rain's offset, I leap from my chair,
exiting the front door,
to saunter through the lush green pastures
that linger outside the library's confines.
How green the trees appear, and the grass--
how rich the stalks of the trees,
their boughs with budding leaves quenched,
glistening in the sun.
I even enjoy the scent coming off the once arid pavement--
it is the smell of the earth,
freed from its impedance,
rising above the stifling asphalt.
I smell the life that lingers beneath,
and the dull metallic tinfoil taste of the pavement
fills my open nostrils--
It is pleasant, though a little less so, than the ambrosial landscape.
I inhale ever so deeply,
relishing my favorite part of spring,
in the offset of a warm afternoon rain on a brisk day,
sauntering through the wood-laden trails on worn brick paths,
to the paved parking lot where my car awaits--
delineated in a filmy layer of mired pollen residue.
It needed a wash anyways.
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 1:34 PM UTC
*It was an aimless saunter
Among the twilight phase
Calm crepuscular hours
Light and dark playing
Readying for the night
And here I am amidst all
Aimless saunter towards the horizon*
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 1:34 AM UTC
End,
The True Tip of my Tongue,
(Enchanted Bronchial Tree),
holding out the
Cavern of Soft Sultry Silhouettes
that hug the walls.
Clinging to their influence able nature,
tendency to allow pink purity
to fall
to the black blistering blasphemy
of dirty-watered bongs.
Inhaling the Damnation of god
And Magic Meal of
Those residing in Gehenna,
Limbo,
And those scouring the pearly whites of
heaven for their 72 ******
***** Calls.
The desperate stench
Of religion
crawling down
my needy trachea
to attach its
sticky suction cup sermons,
trying to trick
My larynx into
Hallelujah’s
And
Hail Mary’s.
Hoping repetition
will etch it into
our subconscious
like a gravestone
set in stone.
So repent,
saunter back into your pen little sheep.
False Anarchic Prophet,
Pretend Goat.
Throw your brain back into the box,
The Individuality Dishwasher,
They built for your mind from the
Start.
Nov 26, 2012
Nov 26, 2012 at 3:19 AM UTC
Blinded by the sunlight that shines so brightly,
it proceeds to massage my spectacles,
rinsing the grime away from my eyes,
there lived mankind, buildings, plants, and animals,
but where was I, unaware of the planet I saunter,
I look in amazement, unborn to what to forecast,
but then I distinguished the dark side, somber and bleak,
impoverished skeletons walking hunchbacked, desperately
scrambling for silver, as so to purchase a bottle of liquor and a burger to indulge his vacancy that absents him,
as I trek my way further into this metropolis,
I hear a sudden commotion arising from the right direction,
it begins to steer me that way, luring me in deeply there was a mass of onlookers chanting on, of what seemed to be two individuals pummeling one another into a bloodbath, but then it escalated, the crowd began to all partake in the beating and it caused a mayhem, that was uncontrolled, I bolted the scene, protecting my mask from getting dismantled, as suddenly I hear a very deafening noise, it was a four wheeler wagon, that speedily amtrac it's way towards the locus in which we was in, everyone scattered the scene, as the people who dressed in uniform annihilated the scene, putting an outright stop to the madness that occurred, forestalling future procreation from the participants, my heart shriveled and I gasped for air, I ran aimlessly into a town that was lively and sunny, as I saw mankind playing sports, clubbing, riding nice convertibles, homes were futuristic, plants were vegetated, smiles and giggles were infectious, everyone was cheerful and amused enjoying this utopian I discovered, it was care-free, as folks walked in suit and ties, formal dresses, luggages entering and exiting, dialect as clear as caribbean sea, friendly animals chaperoned by their owner, "where am I?", "what was this strange but yet interesting soil I embark on?", ..... I don't know, but it closes me in like a maze and I'm forced to live as they.
Aug 25, 2018
Aug 25, 2018 at 4:12 PM UTC
Come walk with me a mile...
Walk on without our burden’s weighty shoes,
warily trudging over the long rocky pathway
a lifetime in my soul.
A final edifying voyage to freedom.
The winds of change are blowing briskly
as we walk charily over the long and narrowing
rock-strewn passageway.
I shed these boots and skin, no longer fitting
my scared, blistered and callused soles.
As time slowly passes,
this craggy passage has evolved
from a two-way trail,
into one-way jagged forage…
Standing barefooted and naked on rocky ground,
dark sunken sleepless eyes scan
the rolling vista as the wind blows
dust from the halo around the sun,
blurring the delicate wispy cirrus clouds.
The sun’s radiance paints frozen ice crystal azure
into a vivid aura of prisms’ brilliant corona.
Kaleidoscope rainbows adorn the closest of solar stars.
There's something in the ethereal air
that leaves my soul unsettled,
grasping for an evocative stability
trying to understand the silenced voices
crying out within…
The pain and suffering has vanished
as if the body and soul have separated,
numbness from the ache of longing,
severed nerves, callused fears
ruptured on serrated rocky edges,
deadened useless flesh cut to the bone
by misjudged obstacles encountered enduringly.
The barefooted spirit courses on,
suffused in the solar spectrum’s dust;
yearning, longing to saunter
above and beyond the bloated feathery pillows;
cumulus clouds finally resting at peace.
Dipping heart's lesions and these benumbed toes
into a healing balm
from the bowers of bliss..
An unfinished life
an open ended dream,
reluctantly waking to take the last ,
surrendering steps beyond the threshold...
A long and winding rocky journey’s destiny
draws near
The halo around the moon
illuminates an understanding firmament;
the celestial sphere’s
pending imminent soulful rain awaits
the metamorphosis at the brink of dawn.
A shower of heaven's rain
shall mourn the loss of flesh form
as the spirit of an untamed soul lives on,
barefooted,
naked and free
like the dust in the wind
absorbed eternally...
2011 © harlon rivers
all rights reserved
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
365Nectar #8 Crescent City Blues
Tues. Oct 1,2013 10:21 P.M.
In the deepest attic
the thumping blues
paint pastel portraits
of the Crescent City
In burning ripples
words slap strangers
taking refuge in Armstrong Park
Slender, **** and Shorty
growl muted tones that ravage old bones
whip thru Mid-City
and saunter thru the Garden District
all just practice to sizzle in a wild tap dance in the Quarter
High steppin Indians
march toward God
and defy gravity.
Roaring second line
being led by woman powered Pinettes Brass Band
hold rush hour traffic hostage for days
belting greasy mingling tunes
in the eye of the dusty moon
A pitch black struggle
with the old moon
liberated old souls
entangled in soaked strings
and sobbing fingers
A quintet churns and
challenges the loneliness of pain
Strumming fingers
make out with
humming strings
under a starry blue grey sky
Stomping down long black Oak-lined roads
blowing thru shotgun homes
like winter cold howling
lifting heavy weights
from shoulders
like the sun shifting against bad weather
the blues lady
open the veins
of drunken roses
Lungs full of tears
Irma holla's, cries, and moans remedies
north south east and west of a street called Desire
Oh Etta
At Last
Dim Misty light
cast a heavy shadow
on wiggling spirits
as they cast off pain
Allen Toussaint
in smokeless blaze
tips the night air
Kermit blows
Dusty blues
seducing suffering souls
bounding them to each other in bliss
Whispering around town
in a perfect velvet midnight
sweet exhalations of song birds from corner joints
dance the Ruffin groove
fiery trebles wave at people passing by
Down right ***** blues
muzzles twilight
trombones,tubas, and trumpets
lay harmony
under the harmonious thunder
of the Marsalis Masters
and low down deep
in a musty sleepless corner
is the missing Bass-man..
hung over.
Copyright ©2013 Crescent City Blues
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 11:41 PM UTC
Oh Bard, wielding a tool mighty and spiky
Mightier than either the sword or rod,
You reign as monarch in fancy’s domain
Sketching life in all variety and mode
Which with pain and strife fraught
Or bright with gaiety and grace
In finer yarn than the gossamer thread
On a fabric of words in befitting verse
You steal away from the noisy crowd
Into the stillness of the cloistered cell
To dwell with Fancy’s mystic charms
Weaving downy dreams at will
You recount forgotten tales of yore
Of ****** battles won and lost,
Of lovers united, amour defiled,
Conjuring memories from abysmal past
You hearken to the moans of lovelorn souls
And sing of beauty in ditties fine
Triggering sparks into flames grow
In umpteen hearts that pine and whine
Babbling with the brook rushing swift,
Racing with the deer loping past,
You wander into mysterious woods
Where flowers, their richest odors cast
Your ears intent on the song of birds
That comes floating from the far off groves
And the whir of cicadas on the bark of trees
Breaking the calm of twilight eves
Alone you saunter the stretching strands,
Watching virulent breakers in fury heave
Often your heart dancing with the tide
And swinging with the rhythm of rising wave
You feast on the gleam of the auburn sun
And the speckled blue of the infinite skies
Watching the day dying in flame
And the night in a diadem of stars vies
All that’s lovesome meets your eyes
And commune to you in profuse delight
Which you turn into rhyme and rhythm
For the whole of mankind to devour and digest
From your harp flow symphonies sweet
Songs of longing, love and lust
Of idyllic happiness, peace and bliss,
Fuelling hearts with vigorous zest
Though outlawed by the great sage of Greece,
Branding the poet, aberrant and a fool
Oft beneath the façade of his wayward thoughts,
Lie heaps of wisdom for the discerning soul.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 6:01 AM UTC
Strutting to a saunter slow
Hooved and tamed three ponies go.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 8:35 AM UTC
my words gathered near the drain
too big to saunter through
a shallow pool of empty vowels and consonants
ceramic reflecting back
shiny white room for more
big black letters
to be vomited up
another time
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 6:02 AM UTC
The yellowed dome cracks upon the surface
Of the moistened soil that stretches to make
Their way, emphatically filling most base
Space between dried stubs of flesh - never fake
Fruitless fingers - cracking, brushing, but now
Healing by comforting the path I pursue
With the wake of the rooster.
Home left warming behind, I gallantly
Saunter toward more humid, fume-fed airs
While leaving the thoughts that so quaintly
Filled my head, forgot to ingrain, and failed,
Allowing growth to myself.
Sun hung, high-noon, the dew fades all too soon
Creating a creaky concoction kept
Together (of sounds) by bare breaking-bones
Feet against gravel, dusty, rocky steps.
Sky set so wearisome and pink, I fall
To my knees in the midst of high terrain
Marked by thin grasses and rolling hill plains;
As I beg for mercy, not from this all-
Endowed sight, but from God(s) who seem only
To make this life right - I'll collapse further,
My hands move mountainous dirt and holy
Diadems of twig, while I decide - worth
When shall I dig?
Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 10:09 AM UTC
Here we are, awoke
Turning the effervescent wheel's
Lively spoke
And speaking of which,
Dreaming through the day
I sit awake and with God I
Note
"where have you been?"
In shining stars and spectrography
My surveying eyes alight to watch the
Topography
Shift and fizzle and burn and cook
To turn and dance towards a thousand ends.
Time a laughable wire severed
To hone the momentary soul
And yet
Let go towards the endless drone of ever
Lasting beyond the melting bones
It is a beautiful flower of a thing
The last through the door for rite of spring
Swinging, arms out on the galactic road
Aiming for all at that great unknown
And yet,
I stare up at a beautiful powder-coated sky
Watching the clouds curl and saunter by
Knowing this truth, never seeing the same thing anew,
And hoping somehow to be indemnified
Of what?
Again,
We speak the same
To reiterate the revolutive turn in all but name
The earth owes naught but dust and dirt,
To all which is and ever earned.
To not forget that which we come,
To not mistake the hand of fate;
That all that is shall once be done,
Then faith of life is ours to take.
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 2:46 PM UTC
*It's optional
Like the fading of skies
Early, wild, or remorseful.
All the impalpable space in the lights
Scaled in weighty gilt and curls
The locks and gold of sun,
early as it sets on a moiety of moor grey
Brushed by shadows of agonised poplars
on a spiral land of sheer pistachio blanket.
Muffled by lyres played from the trumpets of
convolvuluses, behind spears of the brain-
an imagery commence to carouse
into planet deep.
A promenade atop the tulle of skies,
an optional way to live.
Saunter and fall onto slopes, shudder, meditate
and hit a bee coffin pebble on the temple
Where there are options to live, to bleed.
Like the lurid sunrise sifting on
yellow-green nuts, and dandruffs combed
like granulated sugar
Oh the taste of chemistry
on the shea butter candles.
It's sanguine and optional,
your farewells on laden calendars of poems
A promenade- back into sea of spears and flames
A cadaver veined in pink,
bearing plethora of methanol
down pulverising bone.*
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 5:52 AM UTC
when my faith is tested
i recoil into the lurid nest
by moonlight, by the sound of a lyre
whose blood whispers dank currents
into the low hillside.
and over the hillside
pour screaming maenads
who pluck from the damp ground
snakes for their altars.
a timid peak out of my grotto reveals
a crawling sailor scattered on the rocks.
Apollo’s choir releases hymns
from underneath dark sediment.
i am secure inside the den
the man writhes on the shore for help
but even if i let him in,
i will consume his rooted soul,
so he dies one way
or another.
foot
steps
does he really wish to
become absorbed by this
dark cloak? where he will kick
and drool and never again
see rain stretch over the Aegean?
as i have not seen past this
constant haze of lead,
an infinite bang on a finite drum i
played long ago into infinity?
and the swirls
of infinity
shedding outward like the
tresses of a fire haired fae.
a sprinting sugar fae,
the wind inside the hair
outside her head,
blowing behind her.
she dashes through the wood
until her feet fossilize
within the rock below.
one day several naturalists will find
the slabs of granite
and make a map of elegant
collarbone etched into hardened stone.
all the while i will guard this cave, alone.
and if my foes send winds as
messengers, i will saunter in
amusement, with an olive
on my tongue
the wind cannot destroy
the seashore,
the moon and sun
command the tides.
Sep 27, 2011
Sep 27, 2011 at 10:00 PM UTC