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Open Poetry #41

Feast Of The Mockingbird

bel1e
Senior Member

since 2006-07-24

Posts 1631

0 posted 2007-08-04 12:02 PM

and here the graveyard pastures
of fairytales gone amiss,
are a clockshop of ticks and rushes,
the sodden plinth of drenched copses,
blue feathers, branches,
where so many things become unhinged,
lose their wings, like so many mittens,
phantom kittens in the mist,
as good a place as any to sit
with this shard in the terracotta heart,

here is where she starts
a heaven-torn mimicry of raucous chacklings,
cacklings, further, further, further the cries
ascend, ascend, ascend, her yes
becomes flesh in flesh,
white-winged and fire swept
among the empty branches,

by November
99 novenas are nestled in my throat,
and sing in the sweetest scent of vanilla
and persimmons
and kisses curled in silver,
along the cradle of lips, let
the mockingbird feast on its myth,
its pale accustaions, unfasten
perdition like a promise
from its wings, it brings
the pollen of a belladonna dream.