so much chalk dust
the forty some floor
lake topped chalet points to the peak
of the rising air
billowing misting
a thin strip slate grey
to shimmering white heights
interrupting the blue
invaded by the golden
top
and the wind mischievous
is a hand
in places
moulding and forcing
troughs carving water
in others
waving off the edges
so much chalk dust
bursts
not of
sharp sticky smells
itching
crawling metaphors for
motives but the ragged edges of
words imagine
you ride in on
an entire cast in a poem
that
can't capture an idea
where
every touch on reality
pulls the fabric, idea,
up and into the pencil
the graphite and all
sundry
pull back into a place
that never could have existed
no time
add eyes
flavoured grumble gravy
and shake and shake and
shake
the torpid imagination
expands
the sum of nothing
the world
to have the dream
held so close to your
face
that it is impossible
to see its edges
however distantly
indistinctly shaped
so close the dream
licks your face your
groin
your heart that pumps
swells and engulfs your body
with delighted shivers
that affect
the very air around you
how cruel the world
to snatch away the
dangled desire
Peter
Bracking tells tall tales. Earth
point: Vancouver, Canada.
Words
have been published by more than a dozen presses in four countries on two
continents including: Maisonneuve; Black
Heart Magazine; streetcake magazine; Thrice Fiction; Lantern Magazine ; ygdrasil
poetry journal; Existere.
The
only occupation he regrets leaving is beach bum. Peter is the artistic director of Utter
Stories.
Self
aggrandizement: http://utterstories.wordpress.
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