04-13-2016, 09:49 PM
Quiet
There's no calm in these cigarettes— no quiet—
no muffler to be fashioned from wine bottles,
no sport in popping corks,
no cavalry in polite Good Mornings,
no liberty in free verse,
no photograph to finally frame in wise corners,
no children to put to bed.
There's no perspective in swollen eyes,
no tear with salt enough to cure this meat,
no teeth to chew what will swallow me first.
There’s no land in sight
and if I’m right
no tethered oaks will float this weight for long.
There's no wind when a clock stops—
no breath for these candles,
no lungs to blow smoke;
no liberty in free verse
if no voice has air to speak it.
There's no calm in these cigarettes— no quiet—
no bottle deep enough to contain us,
no bottom to ocean floors,
no oxygen in polite Good Mornings.
There’s no land in sight
and if I’m right
no tethered oaks will float this weight for long.
There's no calm in these cigarettes— no quiet—
no muffler to be fashioned from wine bottles,
no sport in popping corks,
no cavalry in polite Good Mornings,
no liberty in free verse,
no photograph to finally frame in wise corners,
no children to put to bed.
There's no perspective in swollen eyes,
no tear with salt enough to cure this meat,
no teeth to chew what will swallow me first.
There’s no land in sight
and if I’m right
no tethered oaks will float this weight for long.
There's no wind when a clock stops—
no breath for these candles,
no lungs to blow smoke;
no liberty in free verse
if no voice has air to speak it.
There's no calm in these cigarettes— no quiet—
no bottle deep enough to contain us,
no bottom to ocean floors,
no oxygen in polite Good Mornings.
There’s no land in sight
and if I’m right
no tethered oaks will float this weight for long.