Into the glabrous glass, I plunged
and drenched the neon blood
that flows through the scimitar
of yesterdays flogged;
cold but crystal clear
lambent as candlelights
efflorescing on the surface
of pools with paper kites.
The glabrous glass glistens
like tears left caged
from transparent lenses
compelled to gaze up
The glabrous glass glistens
like boulevards subjected
to be the muse of the rain;
too ephemeral to be regarded
till it captures the streetlights
and grapples the paint brush
that will make it eternal.
MLD | 09062021
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Artifice
PoetryMy question marks were never caged but they always find ways to conceal their images and trick the pachydermatous spectator with artifice. Maybe, certainty can be Socrates listening to the mixtape in my closet? Maybe uncertainty can be me withou...
