Put a Raging Storm in Your Pocket

How crooked the lips,

so painted on the mounted frame,

how they glare at me

in shame.

 

 

 

ritzy corridors

filled with laughter and candles

kneel beside me on carousels,

never meant to carry more.

 

 

 

for who are you?

Blessed one to stand before me?

Must you walk the other way

when words have slipped,

fallen off the page,

sweet crooked face.

 

 

 

before the ever-raging storm

I glowed down at you.

Your quick glances set a stage

for yearning girls and boys

to come and play

but here, in this soul,

why can't you see how I feel within,

this pool of fire catching linens on a bow

 

 

keeps me far

away.