Monday, 1 August 2016

between the cavities of my ribs

that is where i want to be
there where continents of sound
flow from my throat and fingers
and i give birth to a whole new earth

there where the mighty poetry
determines the rhythm of the day

i feel the interminable knocking in my throat
the never-ending pricking of my ears
i stand to attention
ready for the mighty verse
to land on my palms with full-blooded wings

i dig in the seashells in search
for the truth of the word
i scratch under the toenails of the ostrich
hungry for the metaphor that will surpass all other metaphors

the words lie like ghostly footprints
on the shadows of the night
refusing to be seen or captured

and yet, like small black poppy seeds
the relentless willpower of
the poetry

when the word comes
i know how rapturously the syllables
will melt like ripe slices of avocado on my tongue

let me lie deep within the grip of the word
make me swoon, make me unconscious,
make me fly, make me laugh,
make me shiver
make me free

No comments:

Post a Comment