- Non-Erotic Poetry
- weight of the mold
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It is not the chains,
that is too easy.
Perhaps these cancerous roots
that erode his face
and dig pathways to his center.
The Conquistador trunk
grows sun ward
and he wraps his thoughts
into heartwood,
wormwood. Shagbark
protects with its loose grip
as air flows through.
He sees his fate
tilted downward
and to the west.
Immobilized, these chains
do not hold him here,
they hold him together.
Perhaps it is the wood
that births the man into feathered hats,
perhaps the face sees fate
unfold.
Someone please tell me the time.
And now?
Are we moving forward?
Do we peel or layer tonight?
- COMMENTS
Anonymousover 18 years agoand I don't get it. Too deep for a shallow mind such as I.
So, I see a cigar store indian with a 'feathered hat'
and a need to move west out of the way of the Spainish
long guns. Tell us about the last line, please. sand
Anonymousover 18 years agoof a fate lost in the comfort zone...going round...and a few other images come to mind...tis a very prolific flash..thanks blue
Anonymousover 18 years agoThis is a deep work that needs at least 3 readings. Mystical and realistic all in one.
wonderful work
du
Mentioned in the Sunday Reviews
twelveooneover 18 years agoI get a visual of a dead man on a rotting ship.
whew, these lines...devastate
"Immobilized, these chains
do not hold him here,
they hold him together."
I am completly mystified by the end line
"Do we peel or layer tonight?"
I feel it could be better, but it is always a pleasure wending through the mysteries
