UNTITLED FRAGMENTS

A fuschia color window in the South West sky,
Too many words and too much time,
Swinging by:




The music rags the rough face of sailors,
Paints the faces of the female slaves,
Draws bloody smiles from the child.




Negative, silent drums beat the unwritten cantos
To the poems found in the corpse's forehead.
Everywhere - laws are forgotten, promises broken.
Hope slips like a rib into the sea.




Stopping and starting, the mouth cannot decide
If it is eating or smoking or speaking.
Life is still sleeping:
Tomorrow, maybe, the serpent's surrender.




Overweight, plasticine faces caked with flour
Drop chunks of skin like newsprint into the sand
And one calculation sits lonely at the edge of space:
If God is x, why a human race?




As the innocents gather into orderly rows,
A spaceship breaks the crust of the sky
And the people are drunk and do not know.




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© Stanley Gemmell

Stanley Gemmell, 27, is a Puerto Rican born poet. He reads Eugenio Montale and Jaques Derrida.
Visit his website: Temple 2
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