Poetry For Our Time

Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason. -Novalis


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It rained:

a) Blue threads of hair

b) Glass broken into a spiderweb

c) An avalanche of frosted cherry cupcakes


It sounded like:

a) Sand pouring into a lifeless cloth corpse

b) Butterfly kisses upon button eyes

c) Snow melting atop your winter jacket


It smelled like:

a) The kiss of a fragrant rose

b) The fall of Charlemagne

c) Tea leaves telling of a Rorschach test


I dreamed of:

a) Fireflies trapped inside game pieces

b) Women trapped inside their old age

c) Lips sewn into a tentative smile


You never would believe:

a) Candelabras serving mango smoothies

b) An auditorium full of dogs politely wagging their tails in their seats

c) The moon taken over by a needle and thread


I never wanted:

a) Garden work in a mosaic of my portrait

b) A yellow slicker and rain boots or a self-playing piano

c) A world that disappears once you walk away from it


It felt like:

a) Crawling through an endless purple spiral tunnel

b) Being sewn into your death bed while you’re still alive

c) Waiting, at long last, to hear a coin hit water at the bottom of a well


Written by TheUndomestic

February 17, 2009 at 1:32 am

Posted in Uncategorized

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