Poem to and in the style of Sylvia Plath
By almost two years,
Already I have outlived you.
The mind would morph the flat nose,
Cream cheeks, blood plump lips to a mirror.
Can flesh identity be transmuted into mind?
I chase your muse and the demons are attached
By long dangling rows of lines of words.
I cannot have one without the other.
I've yet to meet you in the race of life experience
at which point, I wonder...
Will we run in tandem together
Cutting the razor thin ribbon at the finish,
Breathing in the dark sweet smell of victory?
Where is my black panther?
Beauteous and sleek, stalking my spoor?
I keep coming back to your words.
Obsessively pursuing, pinning down the feeling.
The catch that will quick fix the genesis.
Words.
I try to keep them moving
Breezing
Capturing with them that one moment.
Looking, longing for a revelation.
My Daddy is not dead.
He did not keep bees.
I yearn for the words - always the words.
For the summation.
Niggling and incandescent,
Moon flash through filmy clouds.
You looked to the stars,
Spoke to the moon.
How could I have know this before?
Not mere emulation, blind worship...
But wanting to create that which pleases me.
You will wait.
Earth your home.
Dreams wetly scattered on leaf pages of time.
Let my life, waterfall wash me
Feeling, filling, finally sating.
Already I have outlived you.
The mind would morph the flat nose,
Cream cheeks, blood plump lips to a mirror.
Can flesh identity be transmuted into mind?
I chase your muse and the demons are attached
By long dangling rows of lines of words.
I cannot have one without the other.
I've yet to meet you in the race of life experience
at which point, I wonder...
Will we run in tandem together
Cutting the razor thin ribbon at the finish,
Breathing in the dark sweet smell of victory?
Where is my black panther?
Beauteous and sleek, stalking my spoor?
I keep coming back to your words.
Obsessively pursuing, pinning down the feeling.
The catch that will quick fix the genesis.
Words.
I try to keep them moving
Breezing
Capturing with them that one moment.
Looking, longing for a revelation.
My Daddy is not dead.
He did not keep bees.
I yearn for the words - always the words.
For the summation.
Niggling and incandescent,
Moon flash through filmy clouds.
You looked to the stars,
Spoke to the moon.
How could I have know this before?
Not mere emulation, blind worship...
But wanting to create that which pleases me.
You will wait.
Earth your home.
Dreams wetly scattered on leaf pages of time.
Let my life, waterfall wash me
Feeling, filling, finally sating.
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