Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Collaboration Station

Great Expectations

Failing miserably
at taking shape
achieving depth,
haphazardly thrown
seedlings tangled
in a flight for life
obliterate my garden.

Staring down
the tangled mess,
a branching network,
no clear path exists,
beyond dirty glass,
as my thoughts retreat
inward onto themselves.

Deep inside,
dust resides soundly,
outlining forgotten dreams,
long since Havisham’d.
buried deep within
this entire time
I stared without.

Where to turn
next or at all,
burns the question,
in this dimly lit room,
snuffed candle stubs,
burnt at both ends,
no middle room.

My toes curl
against the chilled
marble hearthstones,
facing an ashen grate,
long past sunset,
and in my hand,
the final match.


The man within
has died again,
trying to retrieve
the child inside;
now where
can he run,
where will he hide
his own corpse?

He kicked down
every last wall,
splintered poles,
bent the hinge
and tore the hasp
and is free now;
but at what cost
does a ghost travel?

****The words are mine, can't deny them. The photos, however, are recent shots by Gary Scott Gebert, who should keep a camera with him at all times. I think you will agree. The former is "as is," and the latter shot I tweaked a wee bit to fit the words. ****

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