Saturday, January 18, 2014

Corporate Silence

Like a piece of shedding skin,
the scarf around my neck
is a smoky-grey cheetah-impression
of a sewing machine carpe diem
of a woman at fifty cents an hour.
Stitches, and dyes.

Life fell under the harvest moon
where I stood like a tree.
In the sky,
there was nothing but clouds
in a perfect fit.

There was more to it.
There were dogs.
I wished they were wolves
howling at the fiery eyeball
in the bruised billow.

I wished she was as strong as a silent tree.
I wished she could scream like dogs howl.
I wished it right there.

She wanted nothing.
I wanted everything and all the time.

Voices of a choir in my silence,
I wanted a prayer,
a dancing wind,
a muse,
an invisible touch,
Bukowski’s soul,
Thoreau’s mind to find
A thread of thought and time.

I wanted to rest in this illusion.

Published at



No comments:

Post a Comment