ON SLIGHT IMPERFECT SILK
the poetry you painted on my ass
didn't have the gas
to pass
the flaws of time.
it was Jabberwocky language in a mask
sweet coffee in a flask
poured out in a line-
a dried out waterfall
of evaporated milk
sliding down a wall
on slight imperfect silk.
it happened
floated, then flattened
echoed out and down a well worn road
like a harvest cart pulling its load
of cut out memories
to fall and fade in muddied and greyed entries.
Copyright Strider Marcus Jones. 11th August, 2010. All Rights Reserved
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40 Poems From POMEGRANATE FLESH by Strider Marcus Jones
PoetryThis collection of poetry features 40 of the 75 poems from my latest book Pomegranate Flesh. You are most welcome to vote and comment and follow me. The poems in this collection show Strider's gift of being able to weave words into creative and surp...
