Luke J. Holt

Veteran Poet - 1,696 Points (1-14-91 / fullerton CA)

Garnet - Poem by Luke J. Holt

A stale mushroom of air pushes east to my ear
Some claw in my back
Like some raven
Dragging pink lines in sets of five
Wandering maps
Leading towards valleys hidden in wool
And i winced like a butterfly's wings twice and watched a smell dance
Enamored
Holding a heart sopping through cotton
crimson in the winter
Watching the cold sun leer with my dumb face like water drained slow in a sink of sleepless shame

Ashamed to guard a flower in the frozen wind
TV's muted
Big lotto
Pedestrian hit by car
Me next?
But for once i want to greedily suck the air of the living
Everyone will know what a revanent is now.

In bed in a jacket without her at dawn with lazy handcuffs and the dimmest lamps in town
Not even one frozen dinner
Words like soft murder stark as a bathroom with open windows
Well lit with real bulbs and my hygienic mess
Soap and long ugly hairs and perfectly white toothpaste
A woman hates nothing more in a man than his inner-bathroom
Nervous people escape to sinks like clean beacons
I run to you and sometimes a rainstorm
I let the clouds wash me
While i wait for you to dry your towels
Drinking grey wine in hell until you are free
Waiting with goblets and magazines

Too close to dawn to cook
Hungry
In the jungle the panic is pennies from a vines that sour the short towers of dimes

Some next night
Arcing across a calendar designed to free the garden's garlands

Some special bell trapped in soundless walls with foul Roman sentinels nodding off and piggishly itching at sores and spores sickening mice in the walls

Bastards and umbrellas don't march in the sun

The cones are colored bright in near summers on imaginary moons

Why am i not afraid of being disfigured by joy?
I trust the bells
I watched and waited and laughed and sang in the garden
I funneled rain in the dry earth when only my revving head made torrents

The summer was dry and bereft
I can spill the poison before it's mixed in medicine
Calling it a day after drinking a blended newspaper
I will trust the bells
I will try and remember my raincloud before the sky begins throwing umbrellas

Topic(s) of this poem: evil, fear, helplessness


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 21, 2016

Poem Edited: Wednesday, May 11, 2016


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