Shake! A poem. Kaleidoscope.
You can twist despair or hope
from the bits of cheap, stained-glass,
the colors, shades,
broad colonnades,
collapsing rose.
Hold them till you slip,
not looking where you're going, trip,
or let them pass.
And if a toy
of such simplicity,
you, Dear, enjoy,
how much more the round of day,
you do not hold
and must let slip away.
Oh, sands run through,
like rivers do,
yet lensed with dew,
the webs that bind you;
bold you break them,
as Fate to re-make them.
Take this thistledown and blow
the first clock of April, show
how the wish, swish in air
may sail upon a wind to dare -
the wind that semaphores limbs
thick with pink blossom in its whims -
language to watch but never know
familiar as Chaos, child,
and fractal daydreams of the wild.
The sky has conjured up some blue:
I'll stitch that sailor suit for you.
Two layers here, low super-fast,
higher, no hurry to be past.
How silently they stream away,
swift pilgrims of a cloudy day,
revealing what was hid to me,
a pattern held. Hold still. Look-see.
..
YOU ARE READING
Bare Shouldered
Puisi"The difference of high Sensations with and without knowledge appears to me this - in the latter case we are falling continually ten thousand fathoms deep and being blown up again without wings and with all [the] horror of a bare shouldered Creature...
