Angeline
Poet Chick
- Joined
- Mar 11, 2002
- Posts
- 27,173
I slip softly into the air
The world's furious song flows through my costume.
--Red Shift, Ted Berrigan
I slip softly into the air
beneath the clouds the mist
holds on more like a shroud
than ceremony
a dull linger white beads
click like cubes and a thick
rustle of silk pulls layers cold
and slick the binding
and the veil with its neat
tiny stitches blinding.
Crunch my heels
stabbing veins of snow
sketched across asphalt,
a dark, glittering path.
All is white, this silent night slow
processional and insubstantial
as a shell. Now I think I know
what waxworks know for I am
vaguely empty and alone
as the world's furious song
flows through my costume.
The world's furious song flows through my costume.
--Red Shift, Ted Berrigan
I slip softly into the air
beneath the clouds the mist
holds on more like a shroud
than ceremony
a dull linger white beads
click like cubes and a thick
rustle of silk pulls layers cold
and slick the binding
and the veil with its neat
tiny stitches blinding.
Crunch my heels
stabbing veins of snow
sketched across asphalt,
a dark, glittering path.
All is white, this silent night slow
processional and insubstantial
as a shell. Now I think I know
what waxworks know for I am
vaguely empty and alone
as the world's furious song
flows through my costume.