Close to the skin


Fettered in yesterday's chronicles
slow trains carry their freight
just like a tell tale acceleration
into unknown lands of see through
and all other kinds of transparency.

Loaded chords of bringing it home
reverberate in these drained chambers
where commerce no longer pays the bill
and there will be no further indignation
at the turn of each new breath.

Thus the seeping on going grasp
sways both umbrella and sword
attempting what can't be had,
what tributaries not ever can voice,
not even if striking the shore.

This I feel that folds at midnight,
that no double cross can erase,
nor even put a name to,
this is where I dare dabble
with this kaleidoscopic intrusion.

Dive you fathers of blue delusion,
I have but another name for all
that you might just put aside.
It no longer calls in keys
whales can understand.




Poetry by Bob
Read 720 times
Written on 2006-06-14 at 00:03

Tags Full  Heavy  Magic 

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