The Bind Poem by Jay Alexander

The Bind



There will be small murders.
In contrary case,
Time will seek and tellers do,
The best way to torment action;
Walkers along dark shadows,
Cat's cream,
Believers in silent sentences.
Whatever the case, these are
Lapses for minor moments,
For traverse, for great galactic
Leaps, majestic purple prose,
Defined definitions, and the
Walkers walk, passed time stroked
Decisions.

Behind, always behind, where
Cloaked surfaces sway,
A seamless pause, shakes the
Light air, because a thought
Is thought, not grating but a
Slow shudder, a blending of
Night and day movements,
A unicum of preternatural sights,
A sense of
Pressure but non either;
To arrive,
Is like guess work,
A drive driven, a pouring
Of septic tiers,
Row upon blended row -
Dictat, transformation.

There is an eternal instant,
Where looking back
Is looking forward;
A man sits, waiting in the wind,
His mind stutters,
A note betrays him,
It is all around,
And a loud clanging sound,
To him.

Wednesday, January 6, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: fantasy
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