QuintilisA Poem by LR YoungLast night was just about talking,
about seeing face to eye, self-conscious revealing the good angles, the elegant angles of the I-spy an animated soul; forgetting it's a dreaming thing. The fluorescent lamp that overhangs and turns green in polaroids, developing sticky and wet and black drying up to an unctuous transparency. like mnemonic membranes, the fluid upon the tow of two and two together again makes a whole other another, doesn't it? Finally tucking into it's own mimetic, meta sensational fictions, annunciation was the beginning and this one was once the fifth month. between fingertips, testing the taste of textures. the shadows of planes flying above the ground, and I know the time, the afternoon fills one packed car, gills shoved into filtering old poisons, and patience. other options optional, I untie my laces when I can hear the crickets, sitting open and invented on the back stoop, on towels left damp in the air, the thick wild and soft invertebrate thrum, legs and wings, dark murmurings. the noises of the night. I breathe more deeply. Only the lights remain— just down the road, the next exit is somewhere; arching metal along highways, Alice's talking flower cousins mute and only spilling pools of illumination, to thread the westerly map of your compass needle, not gossip, till it all starts, looking like I remember it should, when I am clear and you're here, I just know it will all make sense even if I'm not modest. © 2009 LR YoungFeatured Review
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1 Review Added on July 10, 2009 Last Updated on July 10, 2009 AuthorLR YoungBoulder, COAboutLR Young completed her Masters in Literature in Spring of 2009. Her current emphasis is poetry, the intimacy of words and string of consciousness revelations, rhythm and imagery. It is just as Ginsber.. more..Writing
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