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Open Poetry #44
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Something Out Of Nothing
| Open Poetry #44 |
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Something Out Of Nothing |
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CrazyHorse Junior Member
since 2008-08-23
Posts 31New-Brunswick, Canada |
Appartment airwaves freeze like electricity On the heels of shadows etched across her face Your words melt off like posh poetry Rolling off your tongue as she unfolds her knitted page The device of love's crutch shuffles down It ain't easy, but you still get around You remember your mum's words, yeah, they all rhymed with that same muffled sound The machines of spoken imagery Lash out from the furnace of your throat Stuttering "S-s-s-something out of n-n-n-othing Won't m-milk words n-n-ow cor-r-r-ode" Winter's cigarette smoked fingers Lay knotted fold across her breasts You pace about nervously, advertising small talk in between her wheezing breaths And with shifting eyelids, a nicotine tainted thumb motions the wall to the left Where beaded drapes sag like some velvet cage She urges "Pull 'em down!" in spite of your age Your advertisements fail, pitching words white as hail as your confidence exhales The ghost of productivity Ho-heaves at the expense of its pay Repeating "Something out of nothing Has been known to shave the Night right off the Day" Four corners loath each other posthumously They salivate at the thought of love's doing 'Cause one corner can't be accounted for If three others can't see passed their own ruin Though I'd love to see the sun's prism exceed Self-rightousness, it seems A country man's effort of dreams can't be harvested unless seen The smokestacks reach out like greedy golem hands Oh! why won't they reach out for me? When I asked they pondered "Can a man take something out of nothing Without adjusting his or her respective scene?" The spaniard sun's citrus molten reveries Drop down to the northern-most bowls of her skull You take in every heat covered speck of light Like a sea of fire cradles the Sun's wind colored gulls Her reflection of flesh and bone meet you at the bottom of the stairs She bleeds out liquid mirror shards, she uses the night sky to dye her hair She mutters to herself, your thoughts and hers you'd love to compare But, oh, the autoharp opera singers wail: "The skeleton key is a nail!" And ain't it something to see nothing Mend two hearts with that one rusty nail [This message has been edited by CrazyHorse (01-29-2009 05:53 AM).] |
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| © Copyright 2009 MarcChamberlain - All Rights Reserved | |||
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amusemi Senior Member
since 2001-12-08
Posts 1262A State of Disarray |
I am fascinated by this and would love to know the tale behind it...interesting write. |
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