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Contrail Poetry 12:19 a.m. 2005-12-29 Entity secrets secreted over windchime symphonic to exhale stale worries and aged catastrophe like weathered pages and stained ink. Skipping stones over quicksilver surfaces melted glass and stainedmirrors that reflect perfect distortions of images of you catatonic and quiet lying on the docks while the sun soaks in your skin like wellfare children and aqueduct fountainheads. Formulated love songs echoing perpetual repetition and revisted emotion disdained by the sage and the silence. A threnody, this final lament, your funeral dirge reverberating like last rites in the hall of that altar and to alter the state of things we'll scream the last words to disrupt the whispering. Can you feel the wind in your hair? A rueful smile and the promise of tomorrow fired bulletproof through the rearview to accentuate one handed embrace and halfassed promises. You were hear to project and came to listen. Moving pictures and stillframes to interpret written word the nightmare haunting pages of yellowed journals to cower in fear between lost innocence and sunrise. Overset under your skin the paradox of love in cemetaries and the mortuary for remenant reserved gravestones that skitter over pages and plains like jetplanes overhead with resonance as contrails pale blue on your arms and over the grounds. Illusionary glass face mask mirrored eyelids to rid the hidden truths we stowed away under glass caskets and under beds where at night you shivered. When the storm blows under your heels the sky will right itself in inversion and the chains will scatter like freedom, or your chain of thought upon entering their reversion and revisionism. Good Night Sweetheart back & forth |