Voracious Images

~ Bitter Musing ~

The bitter taste,

the bitter taste of sour tea

I did not take the mean black gleam,

that shimmered in a whirring-circled stir,

and left me musing over its moor,

to take me back again where I best love,

where my heart can sing in rapture,

where the birds flit and cry,

their cadences, and I gently rest, my hands splayed,

before the dynamics of them . . .

take me away from the sour taste,

the cold anchoring of my hands -

upon cruel distaste,

and burn me not, while I sit here and deeply ponder,

shimmering boil, burning heat,

and the blackened expletive,

when the birds flit out of my mind,

and I become aware of mooring,

sitting and gently resting and-

seeing them in my minds eye,

as I listen to the cadences,

of a places that pass above me,

somewhere in my brain within,

somewhere, someplace I cannot see,

and the sounds finally fade,

filling me with nothing but dark tastes,

the flow along my tongue now burning,

trembling with sour thought-
 

and deep distaste . . .