Amongst sober dwellings, hunkering by asphalt
you will find a child
lost in the clothes ; skin; shape of
a youthful man
fumbling at the sound of an alarm clock:
rejoicing by the bird-song -- privately
always privately. Like an unspoken syllable
stressed only towards the sunset.
Cold sheets writhe amongst
bone and flesh and the forgotten warmth that sat along side,
only in his privacy
upon dressing
in the virgin silhouette of morning:
head to the shadows
with drunken ideals, Bohemia;
amongst sober dwellings.
Comments
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very interesting imagery! as well as an interesting poem...good job!
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I really like this for the images of dreams as 'drunken ideals, Bohemia' now lost in the shadows as a suburban day starts.
Revise? I'm not too keen on the 'tell' of 'virgin silhouette'. On the other hand, I really like 'an unspoken syllable
stressed only towards the sunset' as if that led into the dreams...
I'm not happy with the image of sheets writhing 'amongst' my flesh and bones - around them or something else maybe (but I'm a woman and always note someone has to clean that up)
I like the tone of this poem.
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