Crusaders,hanging on to rungs
of old ladders
left cultural notes that crowd the streets
Vivian who was a large shadow
in one such place
often broke down,like a pot of all the opera
that was left in corners to rot
staged to faces that had nothing but the floor to look at,
His feet wouldn't move when he had to piss,
so he looked for a new place every night
after sitting in the sun to dry,all day
Home is where the heart is
Is it anatomy to be poor in thought
or accidental to be poor in putting
it to words...
Some people can't write. Some people can't speak. I am the latter, my husband the former. Anatomy or accident? I knew little and now know less. But setting off on a path to know me. My feet wouldn't move for a VERY long time. Now my laces are tied and forward is my momentum. A beautiful poem Manik!
ReplyDeleteHelloo annie,
ReplyDeleteit feels like a lifetime since i wrote here..glad see that someone waits for me to return...Having a job it seems is a dagger through all your balloons....few and far between they fly to little heights...this is one of them.....i will try and stop by at your place...hope you have been well...
i laugh. i'm not exactly sure where you have taken me but i went willingly and then i went back again for more:)
ReplyDeletework is a dangerous thing. be careful.
xo
erin
erin,
ReplyDeletei've come to think of it as adventure in which the chances of me surviving depend on the time in which i run away from it...the faster the better...