A Vision of Invisibility

I don’t want the vision of invisibility climbing ox hair when I am pulling strings out of its ears, pulling silk strings with microscopic poems written as letters to unfound lakes and hills and mountains.

Instead, I want grains of salt ripped apart by devestation and fear of fine-tipped felt, soaked in ink, dripping lavishly over melting canvases.

I don’t want the earshot of a once rabid dog searching my lower intestine for world peace; when a drought of the essence  of fully depleted hand-shakes stamps my clearly cultivated conundrum of a mind as blue.

Instead, I want perfect circle atoms to be sewn to paper flags and flown at midnight in dark bedrooms, propper to the resider, and used to awake stories from before the first twig was smashed. I want sunlit leaves and moonlit trees to race against sudden concrete walls and broken glass before being blasted into songs of our everyday creation, falling like planets as I sit back and stretch.

Good morning everybody.

Posted in Poems by Preston on August 11th, 2010

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