Silver Lining: Self Portrait

November 11, 2010

Self Portrait

Only until the thin hand

Strikes again.
I’ll be different then.

Van Gogh by the bookshelves.

Before the revolver and the empty field
Where not even twelve sunflowers could save him.

Clouds of breath

One, two, three,

Anxiety as a date

That didn’t linger on the doorstep
Or politely follow curfew.

The first sunbeam each morning.

The day they tore out the flowers
And hauled them off covered with a blue tarp
For decency.

Guernica and cubism,

Stitching meaning together
From shattered pieces.
Half an eye, three quarters of a mahogany cloak,
And something that could be love.

Peace in a gold brocade journal at midnight.

Ten inept fingers tripping
Over 88 beautiful flawed melodies
In a cold back room.

One more tick,

A single forward tug of time
And now I’m someone else.


  1. That's so beautiful. Flowing and evocative, yet also sweet and simple. You really have a great talent for writing. Next year, keep your November open. I'm signing YOU up for NaNoWriMo!!


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