If I were not a snowglobe
With water in my hair,
Chastened to the day before me
And bound to a flurry of hope,
We might elope together
Woman and bad weather,
Towards something less disposible.
But for now
And possibly eternity,
Shivering in my immure
I am white as Paper,
The only one to hold me.
Though plentiful and real things
Like you
Can grow cold too
Without that sweet forboding
Sense of exploding
Beneath the skin, –
The blemished cheek
Struggletospeak
Fireworks within –
Dust is an arctic blanket
Upon the shoulders
Of a snowglobe like me.
Merely a perpetual
Nonsensical conceptual
Mantel-piece mirage,
With water in my hair,
What do I know.
A great poem! Beautiful blend of image and rhetoric.
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Thank you for reading and enjoying this weirdness! 😘
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