The revised version is coming to an end soon. This part 12.


A Stab in the Dark 12



Teenage girls, scrawny
like unfed geese in the spring,
float through harbor attention
on their way to blue ocean's loss
with only a smile to support them.

White froth fills the gate,
terms are not yet drawn.
What dark there is
murmurs in anticipation.

A thrust breaks the oily mirror,
A buoy shines in silver light.
Not yet immortal is all these girls
can ask for.

Cranes in the old man's view
roll in a continuous aftermath.

Offspring flutters in chemic confusion,
seraphs and historic delusions,
all unfurl separate uncertainties
in nights with no further say.

"Must the theory we all name days
be caught in midsentence
before what is can be implied?"

A leaded invoice fell by the gate,
there will be no more fiasco
at the end of this night.
Ships are moored.

There is more to the one hand
holding on to waves.
There is no reason why
an orphan cannot hoist a flag.




Poetry by Bob
Read 538 times
Written on 2015-12-11 at 16:36

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