If Rumplestilskin was a swirly planet

Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, March 24, 2013 Under: Poetry


Silk is non-combustible yet soft
like flames on a Minsk night
on a high tower when winter acts as sheriff

Silk is the undercurrent; star fur
Skin from the island Lesbos read backward
like a terrestrial palindrome, full of comfort
and light milk meringue mixture
The differential in igniting new frontiers

Maybe the universe is worn like a gypsy’s gown
A slender bib stretching into the bibliotheca
each subatomic chord flung to the edge of Osiris
Glassy garment fragments in fields of debris
forged in the silky strands of satellite exhaust

Matter is more fragile than previously thought
since silk is in our composition, our primordial soy
genetic make-up, a stranger-than-alien mascara

we weave in and out amongst the stars
afterwards, we sit by the sun draped canyons to thaw
like lingerie on galactic clotheslines
wishing that the fabric of our being
will never have to endure another pressure wash

In : Poetry 



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