The White Knight Is Talking Backwards
Your promised proof lacks rigorand riots down the corridors of logic,
strong women bleeding inside,
all their energy confined in a wind tunnel.
I am not persuaded that my sisters are a dream,
though they die the long death of injustice.
How their voices swarm in my windows,
like maddening windchimes in a storm!
Your promised proof a color on no spectrum.
I set sail with the tide seeking forgiveness,
seeking the Newland where men do not subduct,
where oceans merge with female currents.
Poetry by Brian Oarr
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Written on 2012-05-29 at 17:02
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