Words--The Heart of Imagination
Before twilight’s panels close the day,
I sneak into this sacramental hallway
fueling my pagan howls where I can be
the raw-weed of a bush: a time when
vignettes drain the floor--- spilling bones
of my own pen, scratched and bent.
Here, the vein bleeds of how I watched
a pellet sun grate dusky leaves
upon cobblestones, or why
old man Stanley picked his regular bench
in the park, talking to himself
motionless as imaginings of verses run
while the vivid language plays in my head.
Brian Johnston's Contest
Words---The Heart Of Imagination
by nette onclaud
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2014
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