piano keys washed in honey [ woman bathing in time ]
sexualist extreme ,
broken straw bed
assembled ingredients of a virgins reflection
desire/slutton/erogenous/ unforgiving
bitter fingers play [woman dried on flowers flesh]
hungering absolute yet no permanence
jazz expelled drum beat symphony
tatoo/dollars /benign/fragile
[woman forgotten in memories light]
supple sinewy ghosts on sunset go
a raw experiment for @dVersePoets 55 prompt
when a thought becomes a fraction
divided into memory
and everyday fatigue
it settles not happy to remain
will divide again
into dreams and realization
long cerebral passageways
cluttered with electric snapshots
of a life lived long,
thinking was a process
started in the morning
after rinsing mouth and bathing
combed and prepared
opened the mind
some fractions found division harder
and became elongated spools
of tension and agitation
hands that tremor
ever so slightly
as sipping a glass of lemonade,
beneath this mass of
seething activity
normal had almost resumed
old fractions worked
looking at a photo album
your son found in the loft
other debris of a life in one place
gathered and divided
and will be when your
gone
moon leaves hoofprint clouds
as with horses it races,
old stars more than pieces of rock
show somber interest,
there would be no more
shallowness to the sun,
as on earth below
with fingers in urn
scattering ashes
feeding eternal foliage,
those hoofbeats drummed your name
quick reflection passing over water
ashamed moon hides,
the longness of souls given to solitude,
ashes scattered in arcs
summer has laid it’s green pasture
as darkness fills the air
fireflies imagined appear
wishing for a net to catch them in
and crush with celestial hammer,
empty urn falls
shattered by hoofbeats,
damp meadow reveals the place
you began,
ambiguous shadows almost bestial,
tears make streets upon your face
all that could be over was,
coming with dust, dreams and flesh
the enchanted
and persistent stars
the prairie became an extension of the city
thanks to the railroad
so finding solitude was easy,
in the yard steaming hot
through haze cyclops diesels
rumbled threatening inert freight,
a man nimble over tracks
knew passage between the lines
many years spent here
living on the perimeter,
where boxcars became brittle and fell apart,
it was here he served god
and those others displaced,
god was an argument for cheap whiskey
and sorry nights,
the others came to him
as in his throat he had words and lyrics
written in his own hand,
his boxcar a place for the dead
those whose limbs had ceased in all exhaustion,
he spoke sermon gave a sense of rapture
then would take each body out
to that solitude for burial,
wind caught and burned faces
heaven a casual component,
the sky a vault
and mountain halls echoing nature,
love had evaded him for so long,
passion cast upon the train
making right for those about,
even in slumber he did not crave
the early life that was chest deep in darkness,
fellow man and a swirl of small favors
cleansed his sanity,
he labored as a persistent mouse
to save the dead from further disgrace,
and hoped his dust would find
the same
velvetmedia 