Thursday, June 18, 2009

palimpsest (KKB-18)

from a sky blue
tongues of silver
spoke

from a muddy mound
tongues of flesh
bled

from a boy's heart
tongues of spirit
drank

drank the dreams
of darkness upon night
rooting bitterness

burrowing deep
taking hold
spinning clay

8 comments:

Leslie Morgan said...

You were silent for too many days. It left a void. I've just come in from hours of pounding the concrete in the dark. This was like a flower on my breakfast tray.

Jim said...

...and bitter women will bite your heavy tongues...

Trée said...

And Lime, your comment is like a chocolate on my pillow. Always a pleasure to have you stopping by. :-)

Trée said...

Badger, I'm sensing you speak from experience. :-D

Ms Storm said...

This reminded me of quick sand, words spinning and a sinking, drawn by the downward spiralling scale (sound) and the increasingly arresting narration, those wonderful baritonal Bs and Ds of the final parts coming after the poetic, poetically arresting and affecting, variations that make up the first part of the poem. Superb, loved this poem.

Jim said...

Indeed, I'm heavy with experience... and my tongue is full of holes such that the wind howls through it. ;-)

Leslie Morgan said...

That's funny. I thought that whistling was just endemic to Badgers who speak.

Trée said...

Thanks Ms Storm. :-)