Crescent Time Breathing
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From the anthology, Scenes From the Cerebellum, a work in progress. Upon finishing this poem, I read it over and over again, and frankly, I'm not sure where it came from. Best way to describe the creation of this piece is when you shake the soda can for a long time, and then pop the lid.
Crescent Time Breathing
There is no reach by which we as breathing creatures of crescent time,
Can ascertain the crouching intentions behind an elm tree with acorn outbursts,
Designed to scan the visions of the seething statues which stand upright in dark halls,
There is no grasping the dog tail complacencies by which we as mandrakes can navigate,
The crest-line urgencies behind drawn curtains which beggars a pittance of mild regret,
Absorbed obsessively with intense window flashings at noon with skin and lace,
3 o’clock connivances wearing nothing but a wistful grin seeking summits of perfumed ice,
There is no reach by which any living contrivance can mock the wags of crescent time,
We are ridiculous in our incessant acorn outbursts designed to scan the farthest atom.
Copyright © Stark Hunter | Year Posted 2018
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