The Chair Cares
What am I ....and Who!?
that this eternal flame will not go out...and stay OUT!?
the unadulterated everlasting blaze
flows from these
my poetic finger tips
in spirons of orange and red and blue ...flames of you
this river of our conflagration
scars the OUR
runs down my tresses
charts pathways ...forms canyons
incinerates and shapes
torches and carves...the psychic ALL walls
Canyons....of mercury and steely mir
a heroine, a hero ...and hell
why ??
Yesterday...was so innocent and so was I
if not for resting a palm upon a chair
...a club stool in a little dark historic bar filled with small white lights and sweetest memories
...psychedelic indeed... a blood scent!
I rested my hand only for a moment...but hearing your angry words
of loss...as you turned on me
the river broke free of the damn
and the door mat in the hall where you first stood
started laughing
I should have known there were toxic remembrances lurking on surfaces there
the sticky atoms of recall ...I should have stayed away!
purest tears sprung instantly unbidden
and deepest sadness dressed me in blue
swept away by atomites
and dripping with this immortal rainbow
I am falling fall ing
staining
the page of the universe
but for just another day
Copyright © Ingrid Showalter Swift | Year Posted 2018
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