Lost, the air is still
without direction.
A shimmer of purple, silk
sails from sacred temple,
stretching its mythology
across soft and mossy hill.
(There is a secret below the snow.)
A boulder, she grows and grows and
smashes through buried skeletal stone.
A stone, she moans and moans and
blasts through mounds of shanty homes.
A home, she groans and groans and
tossing trails of found steel in the still air.
Kiss the Lotus Eater?
Drink the ivory from Lethe?
Contemplating Soma.
(I don't entirely know what I am doing with this. I have fallen captive to revision and it all just doesn't feel right.)
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you better still have the notes i gave you for this a few months ago...
ReplyDeleteyes, michael. I do. I am pulling out all my old notes.....
ReplyDelete