Scarred Streets
the streets are scarred for good and we know it
after the hits of untamed hearts
after this abstract damage of cyclic returnings
there's a window in my chest
a sight of iron garden and crystal steam
where colour of poplars recalls
moss in the living room
and her veins in the dark
the skies are striped of equinox sabbath
over the cities full of empty people
cities full of mannequins
over the valleys of sordid poppies
perfumed mists and magnetic trees
as my shoes walk around the moonlit woods
through cobblestone plains, by mythic fields
the war of kisses rages in gravel pits
on days like these
these octagon days
and there's a storm in the kitchen sink
there's debris for dinner
the orchestra of germs in a room of dahlia
invokes all the nymphomaniac angels
all air rats and arachnid armies
with passion of cold-blooded lovers
oh, what a circus!
that's why my luggage is haunted
in floodlands, ready to depart
for the taxidermy heaven
for I'm the king of the sandcastle
just a smoke child on a paper planet
with glass floors and concrete shoes
and yellow lorries in umbrella lakes
with my brain lantern and pet mallacoderm
the rabid rooster will guide my way
down the bronze boulevard
with chocolate six-shooter in my hand
only because the streets are scarred by our love
and we know it
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
