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Tom's Poetry |
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evocativeyou've turned me into a totema magic message bottle of cut-up straw plain-stitched pin-pricked burlap bag of dying skin hex-laden sun-dried jaundice-ridden beaten down and languishing transposed into a static voiceless mindless motion- sensitive mousetrap dark attic dustbin you've planted maggots in my mouth so I can spit curses and dark prophecies but my rebellious mind clings to memories that I've forgotten of lost cities and tall spires of crystal and gold of long elegant dresses thin as mist my mouth opens and out fly small black birds with breasts of orange and yellow silent as fine feathers and ceiling fans I remember deep dark eyes of beauty I can't resolve there are noble sea creatures more shy than shadows in the night there are proud lips of faith and satisfaction they wait for my kiss and your power over me dissolves (C) 6/7/01 Tom Brinck ACCESSIBILITY FEATURES / SITEMAP / CONTACT |
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Poetry