spar-kling

The glitter sunrise with it’s unspoken words

Tell me a story through your warmth

Tell me about the time you were born

When you grew a million miles a second or

That time down an alleyway

Resplendent with cobblestone you

Crafted a wooden horse

That speaks in riddles

Down its iris you can

See a small city of tiny wooden folk

Going about their daily routines

Hoping one day this place doesn’t go up in flames

But someone must light the match

As terrifying as it sounds

Sparks are spewing from your wrists when you’re honest

I’d like to see more of that

A thick hardwood like me can only hope to be caught on fire

Patient are the trees in the valley

Watching seeds of civilizations blossom and wither

As their floral counterparts -

They make patterns of concentric zigzags

Dancing around each other

In circles but not too circular

Just enough

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If you've made it this far, thank you.

I wrote this piece after I read "Young Cherry Trees Secured Against Hares" by Andre Breton. Andre is pretty inspiring, I found out recently that he defected from dadaism to find surrealism - he wrote several surrealism manifestos - and i've read none (yet).

Anyways, I devoured this book and found my stomach so full of rich nourishment that my stomach contracted and I convulsed and spewed what I just consumed on to the page.

After cleaning up the mess, I found this poem dried up between the pages (near the inner spine) of my notebook.

I read it, and I actually like it.  So I thought I'd share it with you, dearest reader.

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May your days be bright and your nights be sweet

-S