Black on White
you are a page of print
unharnessed eyes crawling over you
spiders with magnifying glasses
feeling for your every blemish
you are an echo
ricocheting between Alpine peaks
blown from a long horn, losing volume
as you bounce into impenetrable silence
nobody could touch you then
you are an asteroid
whirling cold, pockmarked, grim
at your most distant echo of orbit
almost forgetting as you whirl back
gathering speed, furnacing towards
that soft bellied green planet
—with its millions of eyes like spiders
now gathering energy and revenge as you spin
past the sun, atomic furnace, gleeful, excited
in anticipation of that blinding collision
their compound eyes glaciered forever
in spotless ooze
To Go Back To
SEARCH RESULTS
Hit your browser's
BACK BUTTON
© Johnmichael Simon
2009
.
