|
Pitted
by Amanda ConlogueNight is falling
The sun rips through
The sky, muddy rust color
Of coagulated blood
I watch it flake
And settle over
The quiet horizon
My thoughts are loud
Looping, over-
Lapping, a stylus
Caught in a groove
The crackle and hiss
Pitted vinyl
Im riding that groove
Round and round
A warped carousel
Ive lost track
Of the revolutions
Night is falling further
A sick green bruise
Swelling into midnight blue
And I feel each pinprick
As the stars appear
01/28/2003 Posted on 01/28/2003
Copyright © 2024 Amanda Conlogue
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Allan Haslinds on 04/11/03 at 09:10 PM Nice choice of imagery in the phonograph. I enjoy running across poems like this that expand my viewpoint of something concrete. The third stanza is particularly nice. Is the possible double entendre of "revolutions" deliberate? |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 06/13/03 at 12:37 PM The alliteration utilized in this piece accentuates the content. Excellent word choice. |
| 