THURSDAY: A Flock of Captured Black Birds


Copyright is held by the author.

Carried here and there, on the shoulders of a whim,
those gypsy stars hightailing it
into the deep regions of uncharted grey matter.

Trailing with flashes of fiery dust.
Chasing zooming Infinity, furiously bending fences
to suit her own vanishing horizon.

Taking, and twisting a fleeting afterglow back to reality
setting off the beating winged shapes
banging against the scratch paper walls.

The thoughts flying around like black flecks,
folding themselves up, turning into words, breaking free,
leaving only their ink stains of obscure impressions.

1 comment
  1. Great first line, and I like the sounds in the poem.

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