exercises in juxtaposition
It was a time in which
winter failed, ignominious streams
plummeting toward a vague concern,
coldness replacing the worn
strain, clasped around her
neck like so many Coventry
embraces. The Peloponnesian War
had just ended, and your
irises were dying in perfectly
straight rows. Unbeknownst to
us, rather than abdicate, the
plush residence became a
commune, collapsing amid
stranger days. They were not worth
the parchment of heaven, but
continued in deference to a
lighter king, perhaps seventy
to one. Whether she knew, a
nocturnal Pilate would overcome
and rend all chances for
their proffered reunion. But the
child could not wish for this, instead
she kept a set behind, carried
in plaid and paisley, gently checked
the felt for dust and remnants of
the ethereal places. If I had known,
all my quelled convergences
perished in time like so many
tender supernovae, would a lush
consciousness posit something
greater? Even in a quarter of the
atomic turn, gallantry knew better
than to seize the quickly-fading
orbits, preferring Corinthian stone.
Absolute progeny, petals and my
love would concede, and Plutarch’s
sequence of creeds turned downward
like so many angels. But to build on?
Only her yielding arms enclosed the
transcendent sheath of my heart,
but to never falter when the lesser
sun’s arc merited the precision of
her spire? That would be a victory indeed.
I must say this is one of your stranger posts…
I would ask for some clarification or explination, but I don’t think my fragile and insecure ego would permit me. So instead i will merely squint, nod, and cast my eyes to the horizon, as if illuminated by the rays of enlightenment.
Happy holidays!
~jd
hahahaha
No worries. I am his wife and I squinted too. Though he explained to me that it is what it was titled…an “exercise.” I like this part:
“Absolute progeny, petals and my
love would concede, and Plutarch’s
sequence of creeds turned downward
like so many angels.”