The Lure of the Past - Rejected

Back is where the spine lived small and ogee,

where the bristle-cone sniffs the revolution,

industrial and otherwise,

where the red ash of far off fires

lounge in the nostril mists of yesterday,

nebulous novas and event horizons

that suck the air from my black lungs.

 

Move forward into more gentle frictions,

I tell myself, time and again,

cast the threadbare on the burnpile,

acrid with wadded dog hair and tar,

stink up some other sap,

rising to a new day with options

like twist limbs on a monkey tree,

ramble in the gamble of dice with no dots

and fewer sides than a coin tossed

that never plunks or jangles to the ground

or lands on the tongue bitter.

 

- Inspired by "The season of the witch", by John E. Marks

◄ A Dull Blade Needs An Edge

Held Waters ►

Comments

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Devon Brock

Wed 7th Aug 2019 21:57

Thanks Gents, even if life or the day or the dog fails to inspire words, sometimes simply reading the work of others moves the hand. Thanks to Mr. Marks.

D

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LEON STOLGARD

Wed 7th Aug 2019 11:40

I'm in this ring of deserved appraisal again son of Uncle Sam unconcerned about being floored once more, in fact, loving it, and every forthcoming bout.

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Martin Elder

Wed 7th Aug 2019 09:17

Very nicely crafted Devon

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