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Untitled in Blue to S
Been hanging around for long, sky?
The days are gathering to bring back the soul
To the grass you snatched her from,
The smokeless blue flame is coming,
The partner to your greedy hands,
Your reason as fruits rot,
A cheap light is spreading
Her percussive blue all over the house-
But no need for high drama, soul,
Don’t go ablaze when breath blows you,
Or hope looking for shelters
Shifts your crippled limbs:
Same old stuff never ends, maybe loss,
Maybe desert, old bags lying still as light,
As their wounded, scraped voice
Orders the shadows, and dries up
The echo in your eyes-
Careful now, soul, the sky looks stark,
Just a handful of slag as you stumble
On stubborn births, dispersing clouds,
And high tension writes the electric blue
On the dark that burns your fingers-
But don’t kid yourself you can you hide
Your thirst among hushed memories, broken limbs,
Poetry, prayers, who cares about names,
As long as they play along with water, or daffs,
Just look for your erewhon, right,
Even a bloody trench of rattling bodies
While cops are yanking away
Two young black tramps who might taint-
Heaven forbid- The pure white of a lovely station.
© Gabriella Garofalo
Enjoy other posts by Gabriella Garofalo HERE.
Born in Italy some decades ago, Gabriella Garofalo fell in love with the English language at six, started writing poems (in Italian) at six, and is the author of these books: Lo sguardo di Orfeo, L’inverno di vetro, Di altre stelle polari, Casa di erba, Blue Branches, Blue Soul, and After The Blue Rush.
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