RealA Poem by Drifting Blue
Real
She takes her summer baton
And conducts a field of flowers-
Black-eyed Susan, Queen Anne’s Lace-
The wind whips up the seeds and makes new
Every spare dandelion
Filling space, taking up the vacuum inside/outside.
Constant smell of dead skunk
A prayer composed/decomposed-
To grant one day more-
Orion rides the night sky and
Captures the eyes wide in wonder
Of simple patterns gleaming blue.
And I feel real
All is real
All real
Real.
Hereafter/everafter/nevermore is overrated and the now is an underachiever
What stains is the past and all its intricate weaving-
The loom assumes unions-
Time caps off the fallacy of who we are and
Who we are
Fails to appear out of the hat.
I am filled with Gnostic/nostrums, thoughts
Denying the body and blood coursing, careening –
Empty hands throwing punches-
Desperate slanted arguments of nothing
When something catches the eye
A portrait turns on an urn
The curator is suspicious of specious vases-
Categories fall contaigious-
Vestiges veer off center leaving
A stick man in a hangman’s noose.
And I feel real
All is real
All real
Real.
© 2008 Drifting BlueReviews
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Added on August 25, 2008AuthorDrifting BlueBad Lands, NCAboutPoet, Short Story writer. Insane. Little by little, we reveal everything. The itch is just too great to be anonymous. Who I am is what I write and vice versa. You'll see. Riding The Waterfall: The W.. more..Writing
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