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Living Colour '73
by Drew MayVisions of the past linger,
taciturn claws on ancient chalkboards,
silhouettes two-step to pre-modern refrains as
shapes long past cast shadows under warm incandescent
light.
Bulbous, overweight Selectric
stands, pounding soliloquies for dinosaurs
long dead. Shredding curtains of silence GTE
Automatic sings to hands in which years have passed
it by.
Vague, humming Digimatic ticks
with hours and minutes, stamping the eons
with changing but similar signature. Rotations are
completed on a vinyl platter, carving grooves, stunning
ears.
Cancerous dust gathers, coats, sits,
atrophic qualities of negligence fossilizing
usefulness with the musk of time, bowing for the
curtain call each flickers, and the symphony winds itself
down.
07/10/2004 Author's Note: This was originally penned way back when, and was actually posted to Pathetic when I used to kick around here as an angst-ridden teenager. It's been heavily revised, but some of the images merited being posted, and some merited polish, so here it is. The original inspiration is that I love old things. Do you?
Posted on 12/13/2010
Copyright © 2025 Drew May
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 12/13/10 at 09:08 PM I do. I also love this poem, too for that matter. |
| Posted by Marjorie Anne Reagan on 07/14/12 at 11:40 PM I always told my love that I love old men he was 13 years older than me. Old houses and old furniture as well as old books and cars. Interesting read. |
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