So the post office had me arrested,
Charged with impersonating the weather.
I obtained a signature from a memory,
And used it to rain myself onto a mustang prairie
Where the moon had cleverly hidden herself within their silver hooves.
You'll say I'm faithless,
While tying my feet with rose-shaded ribbons.
You'll claim I snowed longing into your favorite January
While you slept--
But truth makes better postage,
And I know that Mercury is both a woman and a mnemonic;
Is it all coming back to you now?
You, kicking sterling wings into the flanks of the night?
_____
gosh!
ReplyDeletesilvery, shivery Stupendous!
Aloha from Waikiki
Comfort Spiral
> < } } ( ° >
Nice! I love the incongruency combined with the rhythm.
ReplyDeleteyou know.
ReplyDeletei love it.
like peanut butter and pickle sandwiches.
Yeesh, woman! Just crank it out like that when no one's looking. Holy jack mackerel, this is good. The first half just ties every convention there is in knots and then melts them with lasers, and the second half takes off for parts unknown. Amazing piece, Shay.
ReplyDeleteLovely.
ReplyDeleteEvery line of this is so totally original. Incredible writing, Shay.
ReplyDeleteThe first lines set my teeth... Grrrr!! in such envy of every beautiful and unique image from start to finish.. my god, but this is brilliant.
ReplyDeleteBrilliant indeed, the moon, the horses' hooves. I dont know how you do it but I am ever so grateful that you do and I get to read it. You should be so famous. Seriously.
ReplyDeletearrested for impersonating the weather? Now that's cold.
ReplyDeleteAhh! My mind as asploded!
ReplyDeleteLinked over from Sioux's. This is a mesmerizing poem. Good to meet you.
ReplyDeleteThis will be my last read of the night. Perfect to dream to. I'll put a stamp on my forehead and sleep in my riding habit and maybe I'll reach mercury before I wake.
ReplyDeleteYah, truth makes you free, but there's all that misery of it that comes first ... Eros is winged like Mercury, and sometimes the fleeting communication invades (for desire often barbs us against our will, our better judgment). So adroit a dressing of a letter in the form of moonlight and silver-horse-hooves, a missive from the wild, an invitation to the silver dance: a poem to an other who would not, could not heed the call, its truth, and is trying to flee the truth before it nails her in her tracks. But it's not nice to ignore Mother Nature, er, Fireblossom, is it? - Brendan
ReplyDelete"And used it to rain myself onto a mustang prairie
ReplyDeleteWhere the moon had cleverly hidden herself within their silver hooves...
You, kicking sterling wings into the flanks of the night?"
This was a lush poem, Shay. (I was about to say, "Not drunk/lush but rich/lush," and then I thought, "I was drunk on the rich images," so BOTH meanings apply...)
f*ck, Shay! i really shouldn't get behind on your blog cuz when i try to catch up and read bunches of your poems at one time...
ReplyDeletei can't take it anymore! your brilliance has blinded me! i am suicidally envious of your talent! did you sell your soul to the Devil for your talent? i mean, really, it's inhuman! as in humanly impossible to write like you do!
{i know.... you're an alien come to take over the world. hah! can't fool me.}