Saturday, April 09, 2005
what happens when i walk at night...
(this is why i walk when i can't sleep)
4:31 a.m. March 30th, 2005
adrenaline mixed
with lasting characterizations;
mundane scenery cloaked
in stillness and beautiful,
vibrant darkness
enveloping soil and stone
as if deep under the ground
temporary world of convenience,
coolness; a marble statue under the stars
where few footsteps fall,
echoes lost across grass and space
while ownership devolves
to renters and brokers
my terrain now; a mix of
every missing indifferent glance,
ghost shadows resurrected from
winds and branches and fragments of light.
interloping lights roll past, histories
knives through darkness,
strange looks still my terrain
ribbons, posters no one reads,
electioneering terminal statements,
proclamations unheard on the mall
hard cement floors and books,
Cockburn over chilled night-winds
ethereal wonderings whether the sun will rise,
briefly hoping
for disks of heat and light to wait,
let loose on someone else’s lands,
leaving all as is,
a permanence
this temporary town will
never find.
---
This poem was submitted to Brush Mountain Review, but since I am uncertain of my chances for acceptance (though some of the stuff they do publish makes one wonder about quality writing on this university in general) I wanted to post it here. Besides, they are my words, and I will do as I please with them. Oh, and the poem is how I feel about Blacksburg...for now. I'm feeling far to much caution to stick with one emotion towards this town for too long...
Oh, I have a short story re-edit to post, and with readership at an all time high (just like me) perhaps it will be worth it. Ill get to it...later. Till then, toodle-fucking-oo.
cf
4:31 a.m. March 30th, 2005
adrenaline mixed
with lasting characterizations;
mundane scenery cloaked
in stillness and beautiful,
vibrant darkness
enveloping soil and stone
as if deep under the ground
temporary world of convenience,
coolness; a marble statue under the stars
where few footsteps fall,
echoes lost across grass and space
while ownership devolves
to renters and brokers
my terrain now; a mix of
every missing indifferent glance,
ghost shadows resurrected from
winds and branches and fragments of light.
interloping lights roll past, histories
knives through darkness,
strange looks still my terrain
ribbons, posters no one reads,
electioneering terminal statements,
proclamations unheard on the mall
hard cement floors and books,
Cockburn over chilled night-winds
ethereal wonderings whether the sun will rise,
briefly hoping
for disks of heat and light to wait,
let loose on someone else’s lands,
leaving all as is,
a permanence
this temporary town will
never find.
---
This poem was submitted to Brush Mountain Review, but since I am uncertain of my chances for acceptance (though some of the stuff they do publish makes one wonder about quality writing on this university in general) I wanted to post it here. Besides, they are my words, and I will do as I please with them. Oh, and the poem is how I feel about Blacksburg...for now. I'm feeling far to much caution to stick with one emotion towards this town for too long...
Oh, I have a short story re-edit to post, and with readership at an all time high (just like me) perhaps it will be worth it. Ill get to it...later. Till then, toodle-fucking-oo.
cf
