A Cargo of Green Hearts
some days you find yourself
wrestling mannequins, strangling railings
burying your head in crates of nails
cursing the thud of your own sad
there is no time like now
to duck under the backyard maple & count the
veins on its always-spread palms, to cup your hands
in the water of someone's voice, to indulge
deep in the molasses of the very air.
it's all a
matter of perspective;
darkness is only visible when your head is full
as a box of old newspaper.
burn the news.
end this war.
let the black script cease.
feel the sun hollow you out & fill you
with its innumerable flaming lanterns.
Poems are posted here when I'm ready to share them. I often don't title my poems. The date you see above the poem may be the date it was posted here and not necessarily the date it was created. To see more, click on the Archives below.
Unless otherwise noted, all content ©Paul-William Gagnon, Creative Commons Attribution-Non Commercial-NoDerivs license.