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My hair is tangled with the mountain smell, Skies’ breath, upon my face Retires, is caught with dizzy fingers, Composed. What thoughts, like rivers, run, Until erased, in countless pirouettes Through silent stratospheres? The question posed is pointedly unanswered, Established schemes are triply shaded - First by the leaf, then window, and my own Soporific hand. |
I see early in my own life only if I have stayed up all night to do it. This happens if I spend a night fishing. Spend all night online writing. My job forces me to do it. I get lost while running naked through the swamp. I am quite familiar with late afternoon. None of this helps me empathize with early as it relates to this poem. However your words and imagery let me imagine that I am there with you. Retires, is caught with dizzy fingers composed? This sounds like a death allegory. Maybe lack of sleep has me delusional but this entire poem reads like an allegory of life. Time to move on I have more of your candy to devour. | Posted on 2011-01-01 00:00:00 | by DaleP | [ Reply to This ] | |