Lilacs over my skull the Sun is a yellow glower in the Robin egg-blue sky the Sunday scents and sounds waft on the velvety blue air a lawn mower sputtering gas a black dog shouting an uneven mantra behind a dark screen door across the sunny street a green door opens onto the backyard garden the Sun brooks across an old bench there I sit in the Sun’s matrix the latticework pattern making a gold tartan on my neck and shoulders the rich, earthen words of John Steinbeck breathe from the vanilla pages of the book on my palm they sweeten the air like magnolias and sometimes pool like blood in a quiet room with desperate shadows genus Bombus hover just out of view amplified by the shaking thorax and the snare-drum wings my mind drifts into the Lilacs over my skull my body is in mutiny against my naked soul
Posted on: Tue, 03 Jun 2014 00:14:08 +0000
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