Blog Archive

Monday, June 22, 2009

Life's Voodoo Finger

A whisper, a song, an angel's voice
calling between the notes
of eccentric wind chimes; erratic
in their very nature.

To be a painter's muse,
to be a lover's signature
candid and sly awash
with the fear of love,
cornered in the wide open
looking down on rotting soles.

Counting strawberry blossoms
you tax ravens in procession,
a pilgramage from truth to lie,
from life to death, a caress
of life's voodoo finger.

1 comment:

Gerry Boyd said...

Wow, this is great. I especially love this line "Counting strawberry blossoms you tax ravens in procession" but the whole poem hangs together really well. Bravo!