stale smell of chloroform
slither hurriedly into the nostril
chased by different forms of fear
hatching out of thin shells
.
sweaty palms make abstract art
on crumpled reports, frayed files
on which stick random thoughts
faded dreams some little lies
.
multiple projections scream
alive, livid on the wall
re-wind re-write re-shoot
re-play another dream
.
time swings slowly
each wait their turn
as her long fingers dip deep
picking the next number from the urn
.
2 comments:
so good :-)
Very nice imagery!! And I love how the poem itself is shaped like an urn! :)
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