John Charley
. stagnant place
times gone, when rivers sung
loudly-night of their
loveliest songs
carrying soft, mud, heavy,
all it could,
and down was that only road.
and now where the sun
unblinks
where down has taken all,
drainage high,
place heavier and dense,
harmony outsoaked
all things, within a life
that doesn't tell it all
and here's no one, he likes
nothing from pain
when things, pain would cut,
here and there;
tadpoles clamour, for that
only breath
rays direct in puddled air,
frogs out-jumped
as the injury sinks deeper of
deep
into place where poetry has
no scene;
waters unwashed of their
secrets
excretions float, evaporation
sinks
oxygen of truth, all in it
being messy,
and truth naked-dry when she
comes
everyone would close their
eye in ears
that poetry shouldn't say it before
it die.
unsuspectingly poetry would
come
and see a blackjack standing
nearby,
clad in green all in its
little flower,then
song would only stick to the
undead bloom.
©️ john charley
