Thursday, April 25, 2013

Dark Matter


Lipstick blotted coffee cup–
Impartial wax print
Rash red against
White porcelain
A morning pick-me-up–

And then the bruise on my arm
That's been there for a week–
(Maybe more, I'm never sure)
At the edges, trading,
Blue for yellow–

I'm everywhere and nowhere;
Dark matter–
Always, since before,
And to be forever after

But in between:
Ghost hounds trampling
The valley, opaque with dank fog
And the pounding of paws–
Then the hollow howls halt,
To pause
And stale in the air
Consumed by the wind,
Carrying the words of its disciplinarian:
The dull, conservative hills;
Stoic, dead-eyed statues that stand
With a silent and permanent,
Grown-up command:
Be quiet, be still.

An old radio song sings along
To these lost thoughts;
Like footprints in the woods
Of some wild thing,
Faded and shallow after a hard rain–

And then the bruise on my arm
That's been there for a week–
(Maybe more, I'm never sure)
At the edges, trading,
Blue for yellow–

I'm everywhere and nowhere;
Dark matter–
Always, since before,
And to be forever after



 

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