Doorframe

As I lay atop the breeze
And wander off into the past
I sort the postcards in my head
I see a doorframe by a bed
A tattered monochrome of thought
A budding iconoclast

I step through to what lies beyond
And bask in the fluorescent sunshine
Then turn around and find a wall
And hear the distant graffiti call
Of sirens and broken heels
Of chalklines, blood and sixpence coins
And all the things the doorframe
Reluctantly reveals

I see me looking back at me
Behind the stone I feel my breath
Evaporating aimlessly
Where is my cloak and dagger?
My Hamlet and Polonius
My trembling fingers trace the corners
I make light and make amends
To slavish probability
The gnawing pain of force-fed conformity
Like nuclear winter, descends

Let me grind my axe
Let me swing and splice away
Let the prostrating serfs who flock
Hear me through the stone and rock
You hide behind their apathy
But soon the rude awakening
Comes seeping through the fractals and the cracks

A floor and two and one more beam
Of wooden stone and space between
Lifesaving monument of instant wreck
And geometrical self esteem
Before you take your final breath
Take hammer, axe, nail or tooth
Transcend the inevitable revolution
The steamrolling charge of evolution
Or sort the postcards in your head
And find your doorframe by the bed


the.Oddball
Sun, Aug 06, 2006 - 05:42