Satin/Screens
Satin/Screens
I was still in school,
with small legs. The last time
I sat in a Confessional -
the same everywhere I’ve been:
upright wood boxes like cowboy coffins
turned on end. Buried in the desert dirt
standing up, ready to draw on the worms
crawling into their pine piece of the world.
Mine is made of cherry, coated
and waxed and wiped so
clean I see hollows where my eyes should be,
placed evenly apart under my brow, hovering over
my pint-sized jacket, the shoulders dusted
from construction on the crucifix wall.
I hear that baritone, John Wayne voice.
I’m ice in tap water –
into a scene of myself on the edge
of a canyon. Screaming with my shrill voice,
it doesn’t answer me.
It’s that large.
In the box and on that cliff,
surrounded by wolves with dust in their fur.
It’s shiny in the sunlight, floating off
of them particle by particle.
© Mat
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Comments
Silver
3,266 points
on 11/03/07 at 09:16 PM
i like this. too much poetry these days, especially at the heel, has no meat to it, and this brings something to the table on several levels. kudos.
Elite Blue
96,520 points
on 10/31/07 at 03:08 PM
the imagery here is very good.Add a comment