Day After by John Grey

the curly mind linguistically innovative poetry - weird & risky

While your last night

cruised the silk road

to the light-swollen stars,

today you log long hours

under a tree,

like a fallen apple

wondering whatever happened

to all that weightlessness.

Where, in evening’s dark promise,

women were carafe-shaped

with the nectar

on their lips to prove it,

in the heat of noon,

one could just as easily

call you from a window,

to move something,

trash probably;

a mountain maybe.

When entire hours

hypnotized you

with their flash and feeling,

these sun-cooked flesh-eaters

merely dull you to the bone,

plop you where they find you

until the raspy voice of duty

shunts you here, there,

with your head cauterized

and heart nowhere to be felt.

It’s how lives are lived around here

sometimes, to the fullest,

most times, in spite of themselves.

View original post


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s