Sunday, February 26, 2012

The Immature L-Word by K.V. Sart

Split asunder,
            From stem to tip,
Broken petals where water sits,
A collection of dew and rain alike,
            Rain and dew, rain and dew.

Green light,
            From a pane of glass,
Circles of color paired off-white,
The flexing in unison of cones and rods,
            Rods and cones, rods and cones.

Fleeting pain,
            From attachments gone by,
The immature pain of semantic cries,
Greasy superstars of empty words,
            Empty words, empty words.

Open roads,
            From where we sit,
Bent beyond perspective’s pit,
Why do we run from ourselves,
            From ourselves, from ourselves.

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