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Crisp noon

Dead Eskimo Rising

(for William Scott Home)

The yellow horizon grooves
in serrated ice light corks;
a milk crest tide meets
in an ivory ellipsis of broach
with shaped lobster crabs
arms crawling toward a
finely spun shadow pillars.

An eskimo’s face disperses
in a technicolor lake, that queue
of changing channels

Above the green ice fire
sounding a bullhorn
Crusting blank quarters
in his eyes, pausing
to stare in midriff.

The tissue silk
pink and virgin
An orb eyed eskimo
drawing cursive rain mazes
on his flea bitten palm
bursting in the surface
of a single snow bitten letter

The lettuce head mannequins spin
with cauterized lego numbers;
this geode fever dream
rashes are spinning
wiping away our cursive breath
the misting alphabet of so much
much glass rain in memory’s
smoke laced vistas.

Editing stage: 


I will try and read this again and make a proper comment ,
there is so much going on that makes it hard to follow.
I will edit my comment later, but the write seems very good,
Yours, Ian

Words can build a nation

but did not see you
at a place any
next time may be
do read my poetry

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