Poetry: November 2004 Archives

( Note that I can't decide if this is finished, or if it was finished after the first stanza. I can't decide if I'm satisfied. This piece makes me uncomfortable. ) I am a weakend petal, time is ruffled on my edge For I fold on every flat, and I finger every ledge And here, these aching bones--are they so much more than mass? These bodies leak potential, they refract like oily glass. The shine along the edge that lights the darkness of our doubt: The lost shall soon be found. The promise, not without. And then we seek the answers as we're buried in the black We step to every side, now blocked, but never stepping back. The slip, it falls around us, and the fabric piles low Pushed through the satin, I move yet! If ever stiff and slow. And where in water lies the current, driving to exclaim? She says in girls in other worlds--or here, who've lost their name. Don't fall too far. Don't bury deep. There's hope still in the air. Give root in shallow, hollow earth. A dream will find you there.
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    This page is a archive of entries in the Poetry category from November 2004.

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