substitutes

The bottom of the sky is garish
For stars to dip their prosthetic toes
And the tips of the ears long like the beards of hermits that don’t pray
It’s the broken light of the lampposts and distorted songs
Of the inane and inanimate taking imaginary showers
And cracked shoes the prototypes for teapots
And boats to cross the rivers misplaced by a substitute
For the old soul the natives call granddaughter

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s