Rust
By queen beatle
- 457 reads
November: the month of rust.
At the bus stop, I find it under my nails
prise out the flakes and flick them
back to their brisk eddy.
Life smoulders;
I roll up in musty wool.
The bonfires light;
I pull tighter.
Through the closed curtain
fireworks bleed out.
In their dim swash
something surfaces:
the echo of a lidless eye
smelted from cracked glass.
A siren swims past;
I shift over
find a warmer hold.
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Comments
Loved this. Lots of beautiful
Loved this. Lots of beautiful lines.
Congratulations. It's our Facebook and X/Twitter Pick of the Day.
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Wonderful - congratulations
Wonderful - congratulations queen beatle!
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ironic
Isn't it ironic, iron rusts. from water oxygen and salt, all crucial to life. I liked thisi methafor most, "A siren swims past" Great on the cherries, must say you're doin well!
Tom
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Eye sight, Insight!
"The echo of a lidless eye". I like that line particularly. What lies beneath the lens? A hollow cavity or an inner light? Unfortunately, we have both segments in today's society. I enjoy your porms! I can always pick out a line that stimulates my imagination. Oh, but beware of shills like me who hold to the Reader Response theory of literature!
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