Tuesday, August 3, 2010

it ain't why

with no keen counter to humid flats
rose of sharon mauves in mid-august
burst in the eye's betrayal legion and

under gables feral a longing drenches
poured down panes flapped lead peels
mixt and ridden by unguttered rain

curved up on wetness sweet at splash
to poke in furtive quiet an arbor hid
of unripe grapes climbing scaling blues

unfixed to picket and pecking lark
from rolling front behind her back
chopped bug tagged his rust creep box

red caboose with curled black arrow
lined blue and green and it was good
the sprayed art of him spiked in flats

black white moonlit that snapped away
skirt stuck paisley intact from quickly
licking came pale the same curved thigh

clanged iron recoil from a pearly quiver
balled up panties by the engine track
a nacre nib in fiction so perfect fades

recorded to a wrinkly black book
in pocket shady ink on onion skin
culled smile over donuts plated plain

and peaceful rings of cooling coffee
on gray speckled veneer chipped thin
to plywood dusted sweet and low

scratching the dawn he went up swiss
got on the china horse near needle park
and not returned through alpine drifts

less days ahead than behind the bark
what happens after fade to black
is just what happens now

4 comments:

Jenny Enochsson said...

Wow, fantastic flow and images! Cascading images that unfold and come to life. Super Bravo!

Zaina Anwar said...

Subtle and beautiful..

Akeith Walters said...

Again, Mr B, beautiful writing.

Gerry Boyd said...

@All: Cheers. Thanks for the read.