there is a small tendril of
fire licking the back of my hand,
there is a wave of the sea coming
from under the door,
the rushing in my ears,
the sounds of
another world
coming through the basement wall
the basement
a metaphor of our subconscious
my hands are wet with
desire
we have still not
taken that long, slow step
not closed the window against winter,
have not spoken the truth
on the B side
backwards
you speak
to a rising pulpit
through the tall grass,
the empty field, dark
and forgiving.
i never wanted it to end this way,
on a sudden
misunderstanding
the way the numbers on the clock slow,
no second hand here
just the waiting
for the sun to breach the arms of the earth
rise free into the sudden blue sky
the stars shivering
and winking away
Author notes
You should listen to Sage Francis's Sea Lion while reading this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BffumeEaYOI
We all live in a house on fire, no fire department to call; no way out.
Tennessee Williams
...
Comments
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i love your poetry....god, what an awesome metaphor.
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so many people say it's crap, but honestly, i love to write for other people. i love to write for my readers. i just love to write.
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you are phenomenal. why don't you write more often?
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cause i suck at life!! haha. i want to write more. i mean to write more. i think i'm in the middle of a huge life-change and while this is the perfect time to write, i can't seem to find the words.
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