An Attempt at the Most Complicated Poetry Form in the English Language

They would be almost dry by now, my wings-
you would lure me in with colored water,
I would lead you in circles through the mist.
From the road they might think they saw a shine
of something, something metal, or maybe
only a puddle reflecting the moon.

We consider her together, the moon.
I move aside, you stroke powder from my wings.
I remind you what that does, but maybe
we’re way too far past the deepest water.
I’m not sure what it means when your eyes shine.
I’m not sure what i did to cause that mist.

Between us swirls a thick column of mist.
I see my mother, or maybe the moon,
and when I look now it’s your teeth that shine–
and rougher and faster you stroke my wings–
rougher and faster we part the water.
Now it’s a different kind of maybe.

Now, it’s the very worst kind of maybe.
Now, it’s the very darkest kind of mist.
Now, we’re over the bottomless water.
I thought I had an ally in the moon–
I thought I had a blessing in the wings–
I thought it was a blessed thing to shine.

I thought I could dance the rainbow, I’d shine
all the way back down to the church, maybe.
I convinced myself they were angel wings–
I’m an angel special-born to the mist.
I shouldn’t have told you i kissed the moon,
I shouldn’t have brought you near the water.

But now i know why we’re here at the water–
now i know why I’m allowed, compelled, to shine.
I can grab the attention of the moon.
My mother– the moon– the water– maybe
there is a rescue from you in the mist,
maybe you’ve left life enough in my wings

But love me– i’ll soak these wings in water–
foundered in mist, I will feast on your shine.
Maybe I wouldn’t miss kissing the moon.

People also view

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *