Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Time for the Helicopter

Anywhere but here
since that day seemed so long ago
strange that now it wasn't.

When she felt so radiant- irradiated
like the sun had blistered away
all the layers of skin
and facade
leaving her bare and exposed;
revealing her secrets-carefully hidden away
in the dusty rafters of childhood.
Many days had passed by wasted,

Life, like an art film
replayed in fast-forward motion
featuring the imagines
that come at life's end;
flickering in the dark.
alone in the theater,
sitting for review.

Thoughts mumble low now,
no longer shouting down one another
accustomed to being disregarded,
they politely wait their turns;
Assimilated, subservient.
Pain becomes part of the limbic landscape
inserting itself here and there
like scrubby cacti, succulent and bristly.

Houses of doors slam shut; screen doors sift air
and memories.

For Open Link Night http://dversepoets.com/


Brian Miller said...

nice...that last stanza is just a sound delight to read....though it is a sad tale you spin though...sad what some get used to...

RMP said...

wow...from the blistering sun to the art film to scrubby cacti...there is so much hidden here. and the last lines...exquisite.