black lace on mondays

your loose lace skirt sifts the night light
its pattern, roses black with crowds but white
with anxious generations and when I say
night it's for the poetry of it
because it is mid-afternoon and the skirt
is really made of metal
and chimes like Sunday when you dance
I see your huge portraits
in the way you let ice melt in whiskey
it is not the glass or sky that bends
when you waltz, it is you
that photograph you forgot to have toned
is so like you

Reviews

[Sami Khalil]

Nice poem , nice imagery...Thank you for penning...:)

[Pryde Foltz]

I like the way you free associate the whole phrase and the last line both revels in and destroys the mystery of it.

[p.kuhl]

Thank you, I felt the weight drop off as I finished that line, so I felt no need to continue any further with the thought

[Glen Yumang Manese]

You have a different style to convey your work...surprise you do not get as many reviews...this is quite a read...and the use of language...gives to this piece...I would drop the second line...into two parts...unless that was your intent...

[Emily B]

i bet all the girls see theirselves in words like these :)

[p.kuhl]

You assume any of them read my poems :P

[Emily B]

maybe I am assuming that all the girls should - I must be slacking!

[Richard Layne]

Really nice imagery here. I really like the" white with anxious generations"