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Trionna carries the weight of the world
on her shoulders.
Her slouch is from another planet,
her chiropractors say.
Her psychiatrist says
her chemicals are imbalanced.
They give her fevers. {my head fills with heat}
"What does she know
about global warming?"
She is no environmentalist.
Her would be lovers
come and visit
but never possess the integrity
to mark a revolution.
"There are no astrophysicists
who can chart my movements,"
she says.
Her poles are becoming more
like peregrine pins
a stagnant shiver
then a Bang of light
"back to the beginning
is where I want to be,"
she says.
"Lighten up,"
I say
Believe You Me
I'm trying.
2 comments:
Winston, you always impress me with your style. Your ideas are so well worded and original. I'm in this class right now (called Weird Science, Hard Poems) where we read poetry about science. Your poems are better than the professionals' poems we've been reading. You're so professional, so impressive.
Whilst reading this,
I feel as if a hand has just come out and taken mine, as if to say in a soft and careful whisper, "No, my dear, you are by no means, alone."
Thankyou.
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