Post by goldglow on May 11, 2011 12:51:37 GMT -5
Forested, sugarsweet, smokey,
Laced with lemon chiffon
Or reinforced concrete,
Our view, our disposition, is open, a naked canvas.
These objects
They can be bullets
Or they can be alms.
Flowers morph into fires when neurons oblige.
Sirens, drumfire, birdsong,
Cryptic fruits of audio.
Pictures and frames
But history is supple, not a stone to be set in
It bends, dovetails, with cognition.
Silver streaks of wisdom bear no stratigraphy.
Your carnivals,
Your moonflakes,
Your ocean frosts,
Summoned to cultivate fields of mindcrop.
Blindly march through milky thick fret, through storms
And hasty hourglass sands
For the promise of hued souvenirs,
Fade only when your exhausted memory is resigned to a secret,
and your body to a ghost or a seashell.
Laced with lemon chiffon
Or reinforced concrete,
Our view, our disposition, is open, a naked canvas.
These objects
They can be bullets
Or they can be alms.
Flowers morph into fires when neurons oblige.
Sirens, drumfire, birdsong,
Cryptic fruits of audio.
Pictures and frames
But history is supple, not a stone to be set in
It bends, dovetails, with cognition.
Silver streaks of wisdom bear no stratigraphy.
Your carnivals,
Your moonflakes,
Your ocean frosts,
Summoned to cultivate fields of mindcrop.
Blindly march through milky thick fret, through storms
And hasty hourglass sands
For the promise of hued souvenirs,
Fade only when your exhausted memory is resigned to a secret,
and your body to a ghost or a seashell.