Sodden skies paste themselves above
us, papier-mache away the sun, and squeeze
themselves wetter against our dampened cheeks.
A rogue wind blows branches, and the power
is out for an hour. Lighting candles
we read slow stories and watch rain
drip melancholy a weaker coffee than the pavement
wishes for, puddling weakly water-white.
Lights return, electricity hums, and clocks
flash digital red and electric blue a midnight number. So urban
so wild, one thin black line away from
chaos, powered / disempowered by the electricity
bolt that untames us: at night
one round bulb in the sky
glowing neon steady
cyclops moon
2 comments:
I love the papier-mache sky, the coffee filter clouds, the cyclops moon.
Do "lighting candles," "melancholy," "so urban," and the last phrase need commas? Do you mean to use "weak" twice?
I, too, loved the first three lines. Also the 'slow stories' and 'a midnight number.' And the idea of 'one thin black line away from chaos.'
I also liked the 'round bulb in the sky'-- really neat image-- but wondered whether the clouds would really clear away that quickly after a storm so that you'd see the moon.
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