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The Faucets of the Mind Trickling Out
by Jared OrlandoI’ve grown so keen to these echoes;
Of discarded memories reverberating
Around in this tight space, and the
Nighttime brings the impossible
Things that we’re drawn to latch onto
And to adhere our homes together,
We use tattered threads and shedding
Tear ducts and kissing corners and leave
The television on to preach what we
Fail to research and project the mountains
We refuse to climb and the baby’s crying
Out but our heads are in the clouds and
Onto tomorrow’s bleakness and the times
When you used to kiss the wind, are
Times replaced with worries of speaking
And feet that might as well be sunk
Into fresh concrete along side the bus stops;
We reign in times of fear and try as we may
Our minds will not ease come spring.
10/04/2009 Posted on 10/04/2009
Copyright © 2024 Jared Orlando
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 10/04/09 at 08:53 PM Great flow to this, first of all - a tight layering and I admire how one line sometimes tumbles into the next - a visual, perhaps, of the idea you are conveying of our choatic, non-stop minds. The first line is a strong defining. I like the "tattered threads", the way you express the television's role, and "the baby's crying out" - that so basic call for help, that we ignore. Perhaps "mine" was meant to be "might"? Love the feet sunk in concrete at the bus stop. Heck, I like it all! |
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