Book of Anya

Monday, January 21, 2013

misty green & blue

pulling off the mask

the age-old stonework
bumpy beneath us
the driver's tophat
scraping the pink of sky

you talk but say nothing

granite flooding the breeze

ocean-dust drifting


we are nowhere
~
we are everywhere

I lean my head against the cool glass
& you pour the dark-hued nectar
a string of chimneys pass us by
& the sinking sun furrows her last
gold
ray of this day


prickets, tickets ..

the landscape turns
dark with shadows

the wind whistles through
the tall stalks of brown grass
boardering the forest's autumn-ling
beyond
the falling fields and their
cross-rooted crops
the mellow meadows
the sad
pale pastures

and
on
through
the
everything,

Again?!


someone's hacking cough
jerks me
out of the dream

dawn's fingertip lingers


the journey continues

,,,,,,

spool to the beginning

on the roadside
the carved
the runts
the wayward

the forgotten


.


I turn my head

now
we are strangers
lacquered arteries
sliding into their own spotlight

another valley's black center

the train's slow rumble
reminds me of death

[][][][][][][][][][][][]

nonesense
forget the ditches and
their piles of rotten stench
think instead of the islands
the lifelong summer ..

















Posted by Tasha Klein at 3:30 AM
Email ThisBlogThis!Share to XShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest

No comments:

Post a Comment

Newer Post Older Post Home
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

LOOK / READ

  • The Poetry Storehouse
    Main Cepat, Menang Besar: Mengapa Jackpot Langsung Bisa Terjadi dalam Slot Online - Slot online telah menjadi permainan yang sangat populer di kalangan pecinta hiburan digital. Salah satu daya tarik utama dari permainan ini adalah kesemp...
    4 days ago
  • Book of Nina
    How to dress -
    1 week ago
  • s n a k e h a n d l i n g
    Marching orders - It's too much. Go semi or full ascetic for a while? Maybe there's even joy and peace to be found there. Could be my new religion. The church of pug and h...
    3 weeks ago
  • font 3 poems
    70/40 - it's funny how the mind reacts to nearly dead. as if it were an equation that was solved without an equal sign. lynze font 3 poems
    6 months ago
  • Optical Delusions
    -
    6 years ago
  • Poetry Daily
    -

Archive

Header model: Zhenya Katava. Travel theme. Powered by Blogger.