Chagrin

The wind kissed the hills.

The sky kissed the land.

Amber glowed

to the motion of

slowness.

 

Black

was the gutted shack

that kissed the sand

it knew for a bed.

Ribbons of red

shot through the clouds

and kissed the sun

that hid in chagrin.

 

Gunshots popped.

The land grew weird.

 

I couldn’t stop contemplating myself.

I turned my eyes

inside my head

to kiss my mind,

but my mind blushed

and escaped with the sun.

 

Broken bottles showered,

and kissed the cacti

that stood firm

with immutable pride.

Shyly,

with a half grin of chagrin,

I blinked and took aim.

Fired and missed.

Cocked the rifle,

and fired and missed.

Fired again,

and missed again.

I passed the gun

and swallowed my ale

that kissed my throat

in an amber stream.

 

My eyes lay fixed

on the ground,

then rose

to the mountain’s tip.

My head kept circling

the basin of the desert.

The gloaming boorishly appeared

and kissed the day

that bid the night.

 

I got in the car

and sat behind the wheel.

Flipped on the lights and paused

for an eternal second

before fleeing

through the land of the weird,

past disturbed

and confused

motorists.

I drove faster,

in search of the sun.

I pressed

for the foot of the hills,

but the sun was gone.

Departed shamefaced, 

and

all I wanted to do was

apologize.

Reviews

[Sparrow]

And now for what I like about this poem :D

It brings to mind the "Persistance of Memory" by Dali. The one with the melted clocks in the desert. I can imagine the world kind of melting together when you said:
The wind kissed the hills.

"The sky kissed the land.

Amber glowed

to the motion of

slowness. "

Like a moment stopped while you contemplated the day and realized you wanted to get time back. Chasing the sun...beautiful image.