Wednesday, October 13, 2010

gypsy hand

Too brite days
midnights that refuse to 
abide dark and secret
when empty phrases chant
to fairytale Moons
I tell myself
This is no ordinary room
This is no fleeting flittering life
This is a magical passageway
sparkling like mica, like miracles
Quiet traces
luminescent impression
a trailing kite tail binds
silent whimpers, sojourning whispers,
tears shining behind mime smiles
Crone's gnarled fingers, playing
to spite agony
simulate touch
beyond ache, 
too brite cell,
crouched scarred shadow
I cast silhouette of metamagic gypsy

No comments:

Post a Comment