. . . Murky . . .

Outside of small houses the town is filled with murky weather
Like a fog inside the mind and soul where lights grow dim
As the ocean opens . . . comes hither,

Bearing a sea of voices from a sci-fi dream
Impossible mermaid songs wearing aquamarine
Hair of woven numbers written in codes of pearly shells,

Birthing plastic forms with silicone bones underneath designed matter
A ghost that pulls the wires . . . from a chair on a triangle tip
Something from beyond the outer eye,

Somewhere hidden
Left for lost
Still as motion,

A certain agent is travelling
From private post to prison box
Pulling a train through prism states,

Into stations of luxurious mercies
Locked up in unquestioned cells of desert life
Moments of enlightenment,

Outside of small houses
Town filled with murky weather
Like a fog inside
The mind and soul
Where lights grow
. . . d i m . . .






Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 68 times
Written on 2025-07-20 at 13:45

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