Letter to Myself # 1

A Crazed Night in Moscow

Get me out of this f*****g mirror. I blow smoke in it and all I get back is fog. Its a Sunday evening, but the sun never came out. The moon didn't rise. The stars fell like hail and bursted onto and all over the champagne streets, painted with ice. I watched it happen. My pupils hanging like nooses, or street lamps, on the tip of each fallen piece of heaven. This is an apocalypse of a mind, tattered. 

Blood

rises

from the ground

like reverse rain

(drops.)

My shadow

shatters

into 

real

glass

shards.

This is a reflection of an existence turned red. Or rabid. Or holy. There's no God here. You got to fend for yourself. Or your dead. Or maybe forgotten. I forgot where I am. I thought this was Moscow. The buildings are gone. The people are floating miles and miles into the air. Like fleshy clouds. Verskaya Street melted into a river that bleeds lifeless gray. Crooked birch trees trapped in dead bark dot this dreamscape like leprosy, crawling from the ground and up the air, like it was meant to die there.

Reviews

[Emily B]

looking forward to reading more of you

[Grakercub]

"The stars fell like hail and bursted onto and all over the champagne streets, painted with ice."
I could see all of this. So much here to dance through my head. You're the man.

[Coyote Poetry]

A wild poem. Words of confusion and places dancing in your head. I had some wild dreams where I got lost.
"Crooked birch trees trapped in dead bark dot this dreamscape like leprosy, crawling from the ground and up the air, like it was meant to die there."
The above lines were outstanding. Thank you for a amazing poem.
Coyote