It's midnight.
My eyes walk over
walls
and the daring
wheedle of a mosquito is a
moped in the darkness: engine
humming, brimming with all the oil-
slick gel-slick shampoo shine
eagerness
of a bug long forgotten and a
drone dis-
counted. Ages
trip over ages and time loses its
footing
on the slippery roads of the present. The
danger sign blinks red, ignored by
broomed cleaners and reminiscent of
the stick figure's fall. His
limbs are as many as his brain
cells, and the limbs of the
warning strut
proudly over twinkling grey tiles, sparkling
with disinfectant
and the memories of a child's sticky fingers, grasping
at the shelves
and the doll promised
to her whirlpool gums.
Tick, tock.
It's midnight, and
daddy's purse is lighter, room
silent
with sound's eight-legged
companions and dust's feast,
my whining friend long
gone. I'd mourn the
drone, happy and awake as my eyes
are bruised, but why
start now?
It's one minute past twelve, and
I've got til dawn. It's
two minutes past twelve, and
I've got all night.
A contest entry
- STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS: by exceptforthis.
550 points, ended November 23, 2008, 10 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
I really enjoyed this, extremely well penned. Imagery just great, really painted a surreal picture in my head.
-
mmm, i really enjoyed this. i kind of got the impression of a slippery consciousness, flickering in and out of this beautiful city landscape you've described.
some of my favourite lines:
the daring
wheedle of a mosquito
I'd mourn the
drone, happy and awake as my eyes
are bruised, but why
start now?
It's one minute past twelve, and
I've got til dawn. It's
two minutes past twelve, and
I've got all night.
I find that your short lines really work with the whole feeling of the poem, elusive and subtle, non-commital yet still contemplative. thanks for your entry!
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