on the nature of things: beneath no earth

let words reach down the throat of dawn
and write the sunrise.

 

the river dreams of water,
i realize i am incomplete.
 

 ...

 

truly,
as being; in delicate
pose of flower

 

poser, ivory vase
and circles inlaid
on dead coffee table

 

i am circled, date
and pen as one
flowing downstream
into stony hands

 

vascular, noteworthy,
brown eyes floating
and curled into
the plenty--
light arc, rainbow pleasure
drifting, sifting;
water slips through fingers
caught between
river and the air.

 

i falter then, between
substance,
as ash returned to flame,
time wears on, slowly; memory
aflame.
watch:

 

subdued,
eyes warn eyes
of death.
floating on a smile now,
free to dream, yellow sweater
dirty hands
and muddy bath
child swims the dream,
no gravity,
no earth beneath the
sky, freedom:

 

a kiss between each breath.

 

*
and solitude finds its place
in the thoughts of every star,
i sleep,
i sleep, 
and dream my life once more
as pulse returns to pulse
and flowers
are replaced.

 

Reviews

[R J Askew]

What a strange comment from Coffin Joe. I am all for reaching down the throat of dawn and my hands are definitely dirty.

[fireblossom]

the thread of this wonderful poem is to tenuous and delicate. gold spun almost transparent. i was fed by this poem.

thank you.

[Coffin Joe]

I liked this more than what you had before,
It is very pretty.

Im just not one for poetry, else Id have something better to say.

also I appreciate your scrupulous review ;)

[Coffin Joe]

Not alot of substance here.

So not alot of review in return.

I really didn't get any satisfaction out of this, but I will read more of your stuff and see what you can do.