The Abstract Of My Serenity
by Edward Wolverton@2009
 
 
 
Footsteps wondering
in the falling rain,
motion's sound tinkling
verbatim,
lost in the wind of time,
life beaters into prayers
as howling windows
become clothes dryers.
 
Voices scream
if you dare,
conceiving thoughts
into the darkness
of wounded forest trees,
leaving behind
a Grey leaf bush
salting the ground
with sweet pepper
and lime,
chilled with vermouth.
 
A tomato red tassel
falling short of fruit,
becoming a vegetable soup
in the dryness of a frying skillet,
in room 204
in the bank sisters Bowery
where roosters crow at dawn
and the sun come up
naked as a jay bird.
 
Shushing the mime
in the lax of winter time,
frail beads withering
from a window's paste,
tasting like shards
of poisonous glass
mounting the rail of roof,
falling with time
to kill or maims,
sweet nectar swarms
of heated days
and sunlit skies
to beam pure happiness
to sparkling eyes.
 
My heart visions
the abstract of my serenity,
where voices wander
noon to dusk,
then silence steps in
to surrender the rage,
this quip of a quote
that drools down
the side of my face
sing sparkling verse
from page after page.




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