Free verse № 85517
The Weight of Words and the Meaning in the Wind
Under the traintracks
By an old box of Marlboro's
I'll find something to read
There's a story through the thunder
That I'm dying to tell
Except that I'm a close whisper
Cowering with these pictures
Painted on my mind
By summers when we were
Tall grass
Waving in the wind
Easy and free
Now I feel heavy
Beneath these stones
A single blade curling
Through gravel
Towards the shaking day
With a shovel
I'll find you
Going downward
Since you cannot see
Don't sit quiet there
Laugh when I tell a joke
Cry when I say something sad
There's nothing in a story
Unless you react
We'll grow together
Until these tracks crack and fall apart
Then we'll be free again
Swaying softly
Letting our stories
Be the wind
7 comments
When I read your poem, I went "Oh God", and farted.
But it was then when you told the story "through the thunder" was right about the time that I realized... We've made love in our past life... If not several hundred times. Like the incessant rain pounding the dusty gravel of the high desert. Bringing the dry river beds to a seething surge of brown flood water with swimming animals and drunk people standing on the hoods of their cars.
"A patients written letter of grievance to his therapist" (or: 'infantile contempt for ones salaried shrink')
(Well, let's say the disease wasn't aerial!) /
If you don't mind infection, /
I've let out her rectum /
To pay for a good Christian burial. /
due for excoriation: Blue Fuckin' Moon, by lastobelus
http://poemranker.com/poem-details.jsp?i
Log in to add a comment.