#Poem Getting Closer

Getting Closer 2

Chatter, clatter, banter, bowls,
spoons, plates, forks, knives;
data, tinged with ultra-violet fragrance;
tables, waxed with thick, sticky history;
not scrubbed, not bare pine;
not shocked.

Later, the discarnate whisper an invocation:
Let ritual nurture goodwill;
let underworld blooms swamp all famine.

We stumble, trudge
through a porridge of blundering self-guidance,
rocked by unpredictable providence;
not aware of our selves or each other,
yet, it all fits exactly.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s