Standing under brilliant cloudless skies,
from sand-etched marbles blue with murk, I stare
through salt-flat stink and hot exhausted air
stirred only by the fecund swarms of flies,
as green as broken glass. My glassy eyes
can neither close nor move, a frozen pair
of orbs oracular but voiceless, bare
of language's protecting shroud of lies.
Motorists drive by in sullen haste,
in radio roar and sun-on-windshield flash
concealing restless eyes that swerve away
from fleshless avatars of mud and waste,
corroded skins on skeletons of trash.
I'm garbage. I am rust. I am decay.
Original photo by nine volt heart.
--for Poefusion and Albany Bulb
Collection available! Knocking from Inside
Monday, August 11, 2008
Albany Bulb
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5 comments:
Such strong, vivid language you've written across this page. Its beautiful even when you're talking about art made from trash. Nice job. Have a nice day.
I liked that you chose to write from the statue's point-of-view. The last line mirrors where humanity is headed if it doesn't turn things around.
This is a superlative poem, vivid and beautiful. A truly lovely piece!
This poem will be linked to tommorow at Poets Who Blog. Thanks for being a member.
Powerful imagery and beautiful poem.
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