realism
Realism
Misery, pre-digested, shoveled in
by earnest people. Too grave to ignore,
too much to swallow. Something live and green
wants to get in – it’s growing through the floor
and creeping up the walls. Its scent when cut
is reminiscent of a woman’s singing.
A high note puts on feathers, preens a bit.
The candles sweat warm pearls. Three seers are bringing
gifts tonight – a bird, a flame, a pen.
They come into the living room with leaves
and tendrils trailing from their feet, their skin
scribbled with storm clouds no one quite believes.
|