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 http://www.counterpunch.org/2014/07/18/romero-and-vongsaravanh/