White Mountain Serinade

 

A maddening glimpse into brown

her sights, wide with glow

her psyche, tender with ink

she dances across my page with literacy

and words I can not express

or spell properly under medication

her youth, a spirit of the East

her lips, drunk to the touch

smiling with humor

inside a poem, originally written

for a caress

unbeknownst to my knowledge

or a kiss intangible

or a taste not swallowed

upon the tip of my tongue

the words once mentioned

the heart once broken

the plot once thickened

and the very instant of recognition

when all literature fails

and the tails of woe

paraphrase themselves

up against my dying language

my carnal linguistics of dead poetics

suicidal adjectives

murdered prepositions

and other massacres of dialect

that confront me in madness

and abnormal slang, slung

in the passion of abandonment

bleeding black sunflower

scream angel apostasy

nocturnal glad-hand

the shimmering wound

that splices down the center of the spine

throat fire psychology

fractured skin witchcraft

grieving bleak melancholy

blistering desolation

disheartening

and feverishly cold

left shivering alone

aging uncertainty

and dreaming sweet chariots

and the love

of a White Mountain Serenade

singing soft

and delicately clear

her ears of denial

 

Reviews

[Heather Angelika Dooley]

This is hauntingly beautiful. All the words needed to describe it are already in it. You soaked up so many wonderful ones. I love this!