The Way Of It

More of the same and not very clever but posting is never bad. You guys don't read me anyway.

April 15, 2011 / 9:44 pm

I whisper gestures
To a silent screen.
West-side hand signals
To the drum dumbed-
Down version of something
That used to have meaning
And I’m giddy behind glasses
That reflect light like mirrors.
No eyes for you, friend. You
Can read them too easily.
I prefer to appear stoically
Stable and solidly in the moment.
But but but behind the bravado
I’m ignoring the immaterial. I’m
All about alibis and black ties awry.
Private eyes couldn’t discern why the
Upturn or adjourn of afternoon
Doldrums. I am a burning, turning,
Yearning mess for fine times and
Deep cups of vodka so cold it
Freezes the tongue. I am young
(But not that young) so the passions
Still boil in the breast. Mellowing hasn’t
Passed the scratch test. Allergic to
Slowing, I fly, glowing embers outside
The grate. Fate has decided I will go
With the flow. But know this:
Taming a wild thing takes skill,
Distilling takes time, and I’m not
Sure you’re up for the climb.

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

hello, val...i see you're out and about...i like poems that are about true confessions...i would say this is honest, sad, humorous, and a right decent challenge