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Doldrum Gold
Footfalls by drowning doldrums,
the moon hallowed, cruel, pockmarked.
By the bench a dark haired girl
sings this rite's flow, protean,
wearing a wreath of paper hearts.
The hitchciker circles the dead city
square, tying rubber bands
around locks of her hair,
his dreams lucid and fried,
medium, rare.
Staring at the Madonna,
he has a black eclipse,
fashioning old ribbon clips.
The Holy Hour. Drunk with wine
and picture books,
the moon's ambrosia
misses him at high volume.
The dark haired girl sings,
stitching the mane, spinning
the dead eye's holy still,
calm in the moon's pitiless,
hound eyed sainthood.
Review Request (Intensity):
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage:
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Comments
fink555
Mon, 2018-04-09 00:05
GGuy
GGuy
aeron maccloud
Mon, 2018-04-09 14:01
oooo, it's like a goth Kubla Khan!
Hope you don't mind the goth part of that, maybe Kubla Khan on some more modern pharmaceutical than opium.
It's cool but 'what does it all mean'?
Aeron
If poetry doesn't change anything it isn't anything.
fink555
Mon, 2018-04-09 17:35
No, not at all
Poetry doesn't "mean" anything like that-it isn't always a narrative, or a movie meant to play in your mind. That's what Clive Cussler is for
aeron maccloud
Tue, 2018-04-10 02:57
Had to DDG Clive Cussler
So what is it for?
Aeron
If poetry doesn't change anything it isn't anything.
fink555
Tue, 2018-04-10 19:31
What
was the point of Kubla Khan? Seems pretty dreamy and meaningless from a rationalist viewpoint, doesn't it?
aeron maccloud
Thu, 2018-04-12 00:28
It opened peoples imaginations...
ok, I get your point.
Aeron
If poetry doesn't change anything it isn't anything.