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Ribbons from the Mouth
December 11, 2014
I live in a recollection, poorly told by a drunken man
full of regret and execration for the dense walls of the long, long corridor we march;
these thick sentiments veer on poorly balanced instruments
they vibrate with implacable sounds
from sources concealed by ignorance of themselves
they smear these tangled senses across each other,
the piano strings trapped under the wooden beam
and murmur an sweet allure to another place from here, along every point
until we dwindle into our stupor,
to never be raveled as a whole
© Jenna H., Marblehead, MA
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