- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Blank
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Click hereOn sun that sets - four fingers
gold, gilt with hope, rise -
fretted, quick in reddening shift,
to clouden as if with blood.
To north plumes drift, set in blue, loom
over trees that wait the stripping wind.
The horizon harks of nidal night
of tiring thoughts, I apprehend -
an invisible web with fanged blotch hung,
obscene - smug with fallen meals.
The wisps, now almost white - in contrast -
slim and skeletal, I should follow -
their trail
to east - insociate,
beyond color,
beyond - all thought.
- COMMENTS
I need to read this again and again, I know, to really get it all the way in. "wait for the stripping wind" struck hard-- and the image of being sucked dry, whisped.
the language usage is unique, I cannot put my finger on where thye tone comes from, it is not word order or just leaving out words, there is someting more, and I know it is intentional, because that is how you do things, you mean them. Using words as they wound not typically be used, damn I need the poem visible, should have copy/pasted it here.
well done, fast1
~as