I
I surrender, still, in a field of brilliant greens, simmering among the
furious ambers of buttercups; delicate masterpieces’
announcing their bond like wonders. Little souls, perfect,
without a consciousness, no formal flesh; but a diluted-green stem rendering it
like ribbons ascended in to skyscrapers from pregnant cities, that
foam to the golden, bleached sores of my memories wrinkled sun light.
Recollections break in between
the rustic cobbles like surf.
My stillness is the sign of my eroding memory,
my body provides its faculty of best-kept days in scars and triumphs.
II
Shining vehicles pass without remembrance,
alone on their quests to societies demand.
They take what they can from the cities growing trends.
Its prominent odour eventually seeps to where I’m ground, in the
spearing rain and wind. My skin stings, serenely.
Clouds indulge each other like a global government
forming peace with the thunders threshold. Light
furies through silently with each gentle flash.
III
The moon reflects itself in the suns safety; clouds
forget to quarrel, and tear; the scorching blue sky
detonates like a foetus
to the syntax of life.
The fibre of grass swirls idle to the sporadic, twitching shadows
of tiny wings, beating their chirps against the winds course,
swifting through remote pylons, - erect, tall, with
a presence faint against this spread-out pitch that fills me.
The stiller I bed, the more my memory resides from me,
like the tide.
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