Ashes Caught in Eyelashes

by Curt Allday

the world lies down as rumpled paper
dreading dimensions, conclusions, tenderness, the pen to the page

every light in the city becomes enigmatic flames
sweeping over, steaming, ironing out the populations' imaginations

singing the outer edges upon which we slide and tread
on parts of the day i am actually both, paper and flame, some revolving door of elements carelessly morphing into each, neither of which can satiate this desire,

so truculant, abrasive, resilient to the models of the psyche
impinging upon its frame, the flame of my loins burning the outer edges

crispy, we are sparklers, lights evaporating into the darkness, into the buzzing fragments of neon bursting forth from the lightning bugs capturing all you truly are...
an insect turning on and off awaiting copulations

the cessation of truths lead to the propagation of false realities trapping me such that the ocean, its waves and crisp curtails to the shore, are simply reminders of an endless world, where I am but a prisoner within a 7 miles radius of a not so famous part of San Francisco, the Sunset

Peers over the mountaintops, the statuettes lining the pavement of what once was, an ambitious civilization and city but has now become saturated with trends and ipods

dots and signs of no end we are means and sins

blossoming on candle tips, extinguishing in blinks of eyes of countless minds surging with electricity, wanting to escape, wanting answers

for which there are none

and i am the smoke, rising above the paper, burning from the flames

wishing there was heaven when deep down i know my finality will sift through ashes and eyelashes


Posted on 07/07/2005
Copyright © 2022 Curt Allday

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Jim Benz on 10/08/05 at 04:42 PM

You've got a very powerful stream-of-consciousness style going in what you write. I don't know about anybody else, but your style of writing works extremely well for me. This is an excellent poem, very ambitious in the way you phrase these potent thoughts.

Posted by Leslie Ann Eisenberg on 08/21/06 at 04:06 AM

from the title to the opening stanza, i thought of one thing -- the oakland hills fire back in 1991? i was living in san francisco, and i remember the flames, so vivid from across the bay. and the blanket of smoke mile high all along 280 past the airport. i remember the ashes that fell on us for days, like lost bits of paper...with this bias i was drawn in. fascinating narration. PK

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