Submissions by artrunner

We never had the feeling of being
the melted men, came back watched
all day, fast forwarded to our end;
their calling voices from that calling day.

Memories fluttering behind, the picture
driving through Dartmoor, across our minds
we climbed; and watched as ravens soared,
lifting the picture from the wall,
releasing a tiny silver clockwork moth;
snake charmed our eyes linger, in her clapping throat
flying kites are wild ponies, for the jury
she wispers a miniature Stealth Bomber's song
as city seagulls decimate a pigeon.
...

She's young and feeding
a rope shaped of seconds,
knottong a bowl of bombshell
blonde swans, that bring
mirrors, to sing the mind
of a lacerated child, leaving her
tethered to bite some surgery.

Years ago she was chucked
over the TV, curious images of her
head on the floor and her legs
dangling in the airwaves above
the Saturday morning show,
like bruised antennae waving
a path to the magic; hand enchantments
in the harvest time that culled her.

If Atoms Were Gods
then I would make an offering
of every war memorial.
My smiling pantomime hands
are creatures without limbs
reaching for you
among a million ventriloquists
perfecting a song of the dead.

The sky blue midwives
deliver a bubblegum summer
while arctic freedoms reign.
I am sick of their heights
and scared of crying
the lipstick colored rain;
a farewell blossom rising
above your clouded names.