Tuesday, January 27, 2009

Days Between Stations


Sleep dust shed from eyes like sand from the cannon cast
The light dispels the shadows of night
You rise to face the day’s charade


Sunspots on your astral shirt induce the drawing of aurora curtains across your mind
Thus occluding the view afforded
By sleep’s access to the vaults of memory


Mourners gather to line the streets pale witness
To the black crate bearing wagon passing, parading the town’s inability to feel,
Only to whisper grey with knuckles white clenched behind backs


Monuments in the square corrode in silence unconnected to the day’s events
Verdigris veins forming on the ticking bronze of yesterday’s glory
While inner statues reduce to dust in anxious anticipation of tomorrow


Insects boil in the electric tension of the impending storm,
Alive in the sunshine furnace calling
Nihilist grist for tomorrow’s underfoot crunch.


Storm passed, cooking smoke in the evening, perfume on the wind
Distant stars gather to blister the sky with acrylic splendour
Teenagers gather on the quayside to smoke their anxious longing to the quick


The veil of dreaming spikes the guns of daylight’s last delusions
A vain attempt to stem the deluge
Poured from long breached reservoirs of real time nightmares

The Void

Gaze back into the open mouth released by sleep’s submerging
Wonder at the beauty brought to the surface teeming
Plankton for the soul in daylight soon forgot


Candie Bracci said...

wow...love what you did here.
And you put my friends at noon,lol.

James Higham said...

Easter Island indeed.

Pisces Iscariot said...

Yes, Easter Island: a cautionary tale on the dangers of rampant consumerism ;]

CherryPie said...

Very clever :-)

Pisces Iscariot said...

CherryPie: just trying to keep it interesting :)