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Monday, November 07, 2011

My hollow has a metal sound (the poem)

[Well, I'm posting one more poem before I take my pause from regular blogging to focus on a longer-term project (and I may break the silence again if the muse takes me unexpectedly, as she often does).]

My hollow has a metal sound.

My hollow is sounding this way:
A hinged flap clangs,

tapping against its empty cylinder.
There are cinders in the tender

trap I laid yesterday

to catch a glimpse of a gleam.
The gleam leaped from a small crinkle

in the steel, and got free
before I could show it how much

I loved it.

Then, I closed my eyes.
When I close my eyes, I can see

flares of color.
Monday, it isn’t blue, it’s red,

a ruby splatter creeping

its stain of warmth to the very edge.
Tuesday, it’s blue. Tuesday is

a sapphire pool slowly spreading its wet
to cool off Monday’s hot.

Today is Wednesday. That gleam was

supposed to be my yellow.
Without it, what I see slips back into a black

velvet landscape they’ve re-placed inside
a cheap aluminum frame.

What I see in it is

what I saw on it, when the black was more
sheet-metal gray, and it was and is

a wounded robot hand-painted white
to wander

across the wastes where my human mind

once played with colors.
It’s collecting glints off smooth-faced

granite with its sensitive sensors for eyes.
They’ll help fill its hollow,

a hollow suddenly sounding less metal.
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