Windowman
WINDOWMAN
Scratching his scruff, the windowman bent to
the glass and gleamed
While the round of the rag squealed against the
glass and tiny water runaways fell down onto
frescoed walls, onto grafitti'd walls, and
rip wallpaper walls
Like artifacts whose solemn spasms have
become little matter for the wind
N' reckoning the liquid sky has been spilt and
spilt again, he knew for all the water evaporated
above the city today, there would be a hundred
pools he could be swimming in tomorrow
Why his last molecule could be the pearl of a tornado
or a luncheon for trees
Why he could wreak havoc or charm
depending on his day..........
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.
