of stars grazing your hair;
starlight shines vacant
in your eyes.
On this globe revolving in mad
abundance, careening
off-course
in our dreams
where spiders feed us silk
from their mandibles;
and the strawberries are sour
studded with green eyes
watching from red lanterns.
What light to see by is this?
Scattered unripe fruit, the world
overtaken by insects.
Push the shopping cart through
the storm of shredded light.
Let breaking branches scratch
your face. The wind is your voice.
Night spins hallucinating
a starry nest.
We are broken illuminations
falling.
Dust of starlight.
Caught in a web
spun in silk fire fibres.
Pull your hair
from your dirty face.
Wipe off stardust, like grime.
Magic is a spider eye
in a world of compound debt.
Survival, man, woman,
is the song
to spin singing
on dangling
thread.
very nice Brenda, very nice poetry
ReplyDeleteThank you, dear Pierre-Marie...
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