Tuesday, March 20, 2007

A Poem Draft

It came to me as I was making sandwiches today.

Moly

I carry moly in my pocket;
I use it to mollify
the spirits that meander
where my memories go to die.
The elephants in their graveyards
stack the ivory to the heights
where phantoms march and murmur
of long-lost loves and lights.
Deceptive and dishonest
are the markers of the dead;
wanderers sad and foolish
are those who are by them led;
But I too wandered in those shadows
beneath a darkening sky,
where the skeletons of madness
on the sands of heartache lie.

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