The leafs thin and bare
like cancer patients
in the fall, bent
belting out from rough lips;
the grave aria.
Boney fingers twist and wave
like a contortionist conductor
plucking the strings, tendons tight
in the grip of those necks
wanton and lecherous,
a gale through the yellow reeds
lifts passing souls
orchestral spectral shows
three sheets in the wind
unseen from the window
chamber maids whiter wait against the wall trembling
as the sands tumble and swirl
over everything into the four corners
YOU ARE READING
She, Infinity
PoetryI mean to place sight within the constraints of sound and drive it into the bed rock, the foundation of feeling, literally rather than metaphorically.
