Free verse № 141906
Monday Morning
Sky of nights cast iron heat-
the hot breath and the cauldrons.
I lie staked to her claim.
The Evening has me under
her skirt and a rope 'round the ankles.
I breathe in my exhaleâ¦
wearisome I vent my own black mouth.
Teardrops hiss at the gravel;
the crazed torrent flattens.
The metallic sky that hangs over my brow
is my ceiling-the great light bandit.
My eyes hibernate in their deep dark pots,
and I want white linens
to cocoon me up.
With morning comes a shine and a turning of lights
into my window,
a child that is spiraling.
The skyâs smog lies inside our dumpsters
from last nights regret.
Sky burns blue,
canvas is ready.
3 comments
"With morning comes a . . . turning of light"--nice. Think it'd stand alone, stronger, without "shine." The spiralling child seems disconnected right now. Maybe, also, just "smog" without "the sky's" (where else would smog be?) S/b "last night's" (apos.). I almost think the ending would be stronger without the last line.
Really like this, overall.
'The great light bandit' is a super line.
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