Stop Making Sense

August 23, 2011
By Claydub PLATINUM, Fredericksburg, Virginia
Claydub PLATINUM, Fredericksburg, Virginia
35 articles 0 photos 9 comments

Favorite Quote:
"You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;" - Edgar Allen Poe

The blue bird is humming

though the sap of the sycamore bled

from one end of town to the other

curled like a garden snake

at the sight of a mouse,

and the injured dog limped away

like the tick that rode it.

He said the sky was dark as cockroach's back

so he fell through the furnace of a

cactus which grew like green plates from the ground

and collapsed through the sand like a wave

and fell through the earth like a body

through a grave that seemed to

grow from the ground as naturally as

a cup of cider.

The blue bird was still humming

through the chalice of dirt

and the sycamore bled

a river through the town

and followed him like a lost dog

through an Arabian desert and a

thousand moons of the Milky Way

and they swam thru the sun

and flipped from the stars

though the sycamore's cactus had long been gone.

The author's comments:
There's something beautiful about a poem that cannot be accounted for logically--maybe you can find what that is with this poem.

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