Looking ahead was only a way
To see what was backwards -
A mirror blocked my path:
My own reflection blocked my way.
A tea-bag brushed the lip of the pot
As it orbited around in the space above,
And as it moved away the pot closed itself.
I turned the corner past the church,
With a bass guitar!
Soon the banging sound was all drowned out
By noise explosions!
My fingers were alive -
I drew a smile without opening my mouth!
Without words! A triumph worth? One hundred pounds!
Back to square one. But someone else is here, now, too.
Really trying to align this sense of a routine,
But my goodness, but how it is quiet here.
Just our footsteps down the well-lit street -
The pavement shimmered,
And your fingers
Came alive!
Looking up, the snow was charcoal
Against a chalky sky. Looking down, it was white
Against a wet black wall.
It was a matter of inclination.
You are not some paltry image!
Good grief. What is that under your skin, telling a different story?
I knew it. Come here!
No comments:
Post a Comment