Calm, collected,
infatuated with quietness
whispering to me,
like dust rumbling over book casing,
padding along the top
of parched pages disintegrating under
artificial, alien lights -
sand paper in limestone
quarries.
Tiny wings clapping
in translucence, vindictive
fluttering, taps
against the bulb -
every man’s flight
towards God.
Fissures scratching
inside man-made glass,
florescent vines
cutting outlines -
a kinder garden of
time-outs and mind
envisioning the arboretum
to come from
Benjamin Franklin thinking
while drinking under what
watered both.
...
Comments
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This was obviously a fairly obtuse write, but I got a measure of meaning out of it.. I loved the second verse, moths to a lightglobe, humans to god, great allegory.. And the last three lines had a beautiful flow too.. great
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I love how you can loop seemingly nonsensical sentences into such artwork. This piece of work gives me such a sense of searching; grasping. It's like digging through the sand in search of something only to discover that you don't know quite what you are looking for.
You have strong diction and word choice throughout the poem.
Excellent job.
♥ Megan
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