| | To see things through
the fish-eye of a porthole,
like a city on the brink
of a sodium sea, a green glow
echoing against
a city of windows.
As if the smell of scales and seaweed
were balanced
on the belly of a memory.
The depth
of pine tree portraits,
the subtle carving in the bark base,
a lover's dedication
in alphabet song.
Through the carriage of leaves,
a sun ray current
cuts a path in pollen,
like a fine powder, like golden smoke,
grafted across mossy beds.
Southern skies, a rumble
as the thunder crashes.
Flashes of lightning,
like white hot veins.
The fury of sizzles and sparks
forming welts, forming
signatures in the sand.
The smell of sulfur,
like a bloom of fireworks
on the fourth of July.
To glide above
a blanket of clouds,
mountaintops, and towers of glass.
Calmly, dawn creeps over
a fluff of fog.
The cotton ocean swells,
like a garden of cauliflower.
Tipped in silver,
a window opens;
the weight of feathers
hangs suspended.
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| | Posted 10/27/2009 5:13 PM - 1 View - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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