Wet Perfidy

Shadows on street with drain

Into an aqueduct, over and over the edge–
The travel runs deep.

Our blended souls flow in constricted rivulets — they sense the reverberation of land underfoot, overhead,
All from the gallows
A wish for the glade, a want,
For we serve no great purpose,
And this is oblivion

In time we come to something new,
and that puts name to face
For this is the hard and soft place
Where earth inches through,
The passing gift of a disintegrated whole

The walls narrow, and
as through porous marrow, the wet flow runs
———-in silvery tinsel lines
No vast sea do we find,
Just worms and roots and grime.
To reward those pastors for their perfidy,
It’s time to think rakishly thin

 

3 Replies to “Wet Perfidy”

  1. Pingback: If I May Introduce Myself: A Paranormal-Science-Fiction Author – Dawn Trowell Jones

  2. This is an evocative poem. Did you always have a talent for writing poetry, or was it something you nurtured, or a bit of both?

    • Thank you so much, Vincent, for your kind compliment. I’m glad you enjoyed ‘Wet Perfidy.’

      I wasn’t expecting a question like that. I’ll honor it with an answer: both.

      I’ve always appreciated the musicality of language, and I’ve tried to make it do what I want it to do. Sound and rhythm. Maybe some mild synesthesia has been at play, too, for better or for worse. Poetry is song and imagery with message, all of a piece. A friend once described me as the most non-linear thinker he knew.

      I’ve worked at it some, as well, on and off for over thirty years, always interested in what feels right, what doesn’t, and why. I was mentored by an established poet in my twenties, and that may have helped. But poetry is so subjective. All I can do is my best, like everyone else, and enjoy when what I’ve said resonates with others. Thanks again!

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