Chasing Pages Through A Broken WindowA Poem by Scott Lee
I.
nothing burns like your narcotic touch scrambling me up on a black cast iron pan nobody seems to see how I chase pages through chaos see them swirl and turn and bleed and burn I can't ever get it right. II. who is behind the foggy mirror looking at me with indifferent eyes? who paints the horizon with invisible hands touching hearts like a master? who still breathes eternity after unjust, and mangled crucifixions? what glows in the haunted sky of your mind besides a great light that nobody can quite define? I have put my surreal hand in the colors of your canvas just for a taste of rainbows. I have caught whispers in my silent web that I still eat from time to time. I am chasing pages through a broken window, my ghost follows but is too slow to catch them. Hellish hounds barking through Texas winds snapping at my words. How did they find my heart so quickly? I am forced inside book covers smuggle me off between your arm I have forgotten the way you walk. it's been too long. how am I to live like this? I have been disconnected from the colors. The multicolored fire spoke like a raging Dragon birthing its cruel babies in my thoughts. Nobody is here to listen. Phantoms of creation screaming red reason at black injustice. When will a truce be made? integrate me now I am full of midnight cemeteries and there is a stranger walking through me, kicking over head stones, pissing on my manicured lawn, dishonoring saints with black enchantment. III. I watch dawn lick the trees with a perfect tongue no words needed to invoke a mystery no pages fluttering through a broken window. Trees line the sky like frizzy punk rock hair ready to jam and mosh as your light combs and sweeps through the morning burning me with softly lit reason. © 2015 Scott Lee |
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Added on May 27, 2015 Last Updated on May 27, 2015 AuthorScott LeeAshland, ORAboutIf now and then we encounter pages that explode, pages that wound, sears, tears, groans, and curses, know they came from a man with his back up, a man whose only defenses left are his words, and his w.. more..Writing
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