as if my fractured
tortured words are time
fleshed almost to a communion
with a maternalizing modernity
birthing me
to a point
of a complete incompletion,
it is art breathing beauty
wearing tongued words
as I might wear the air
of an ugly smile
and smell what resigned concern
sees before burning
any memory I bleed
to seed with what I learn
from the turn
from need to bloom...
I don't write, I paint myself blind with words...diogenes herded...ignorance...gilded cages...filling up on beauty unleashed...free will's maddening fractures...eyes that need to smell to see...
June 30, 2011
I feel my way into the scent of the poem...
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I really like this:
ReplyDelete"wearing tongued words
as I might wear the air
of an ugly smile"