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Oct 03

Until Rabbits Get Guns

Monday, 3. October 2011 18:30

the enso

A sign that says "Ain't No Fun When The Rabbits Got The Gun"

"A Sign of the Times — West Texas" by marlowe

the poem

Wind turbines will dot
the West Texas horizon
like giant mutant daisies,
compete for attention
with the stout oil rigs, each
mining the earth. You will dine
al fresco in 100-degree shade
and realize hydration
is a zero-sum game. Dust
devils and vultures will spiral
together, side by side
in the same field
like synchronized swimmers.
There will be no water here.
Prickly pears will stub
shiny, barren fields like bristles.
The trees will retreat,
dormant ribbons of rust
striating the bluffs bleached
blond by the sun. The highway
will manifest in front of you,
achieving solidity
a few hundred feet at a time
from a shimmering wet path
that melts at the horizon,
always just out of reach,
a mirror reflecting back
to you the future.

Category:Animal, Human, Mineral, Plant | Comments Off | Author:

Feb 08

Compilation #6

Tuesday, 8. February 2011 21:00

the enso

An office plant and a chair sit by window blinds

"Window Blinds" by marlowe

the poem

You see these leaves at dusk, kissed
by the departing sun, glittering like flakes
of gold dust. Lattices
of snowflakes lay like antique lace,
a white crochet scarf adorning your jacket.
The cold may encase
your bones like ribbons of linen
wrapping a mummy but the sun
is an electric blanket, a friend
as warm as the clay
coffee mug you cradle. The dog’s woolly coat
separates into columns like a coral reef,
your hand a starfish.
Fence posts are the discard spears
of our wars, recycled.
You see the downtown skyscrapers flicker
like candles on a birthday cake, and you wish
for the full moon, a whole
peppermint pattie. You know
pine cones, artichokes, lotus flowers, and humans unfold
to find their inner beauty, to find relief.
Meanwhile, inside, the window blinds slant
like the ridges of a steel washboard, and the chandelier
crystals sparkle like sequins. When you are still,
you can hear the groans and creaks
of your soul. Like an overripe fruit, we teeter
on a balance beam, swinging between growth and rot,
light and dark. Our paths may fork
but the tree, with its multitude of branches, creates
so many starts and ends, showing us how
to hold possibility. These gold coins
jangling in your purse, these suns you hide
from the world, are your talents.

Category:Animal, Human, Mineral, Plant | Comments Off | Author:

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