Burning that Cherry Wood Door by David L O’Nan (Poetry)

Flame, Lighter, Light, Burning, Kindle

Burning that Cherry Wood Door

In perfection, we search
behind these doors
the smears on mirrors
oil on the screens,
broken tears solidified to a canvas
rain-moon schizophrenic
look out of those windows,
the city masking in perfection
Italicized perfection

Lips quivering in the cold clotted air
and inside as well
The perfection in tremors
Your perfect face from afar
My blue skin,
its infinite choke
your perfect skin up close,
my out of body walks with faith 
                        doesn't extend past these doors

Recluse, worries, WORRIES
about what?
Compressed energies,
outgoing ghosts,
They feel free to possess you away
for a few dark hours
to have felt free
vertically and horizontally
drunk on lunar blood.

To grieve in my bohemia
loving in a sudden smoke
bridges that vanish before the eyes
as I walk through all these canals,
in your mind
A mind that functions on scattered smoke,
impulsive smoke
it appears for a few creative breakdowns
when clustered, 
                                     here is the choking.

Searching for perfection
from afar,      your perfect soul
My black haloes
from afar,       your perfect fire
My burning desire
to torch these  Cherry Wood doors.

And watch downtown rivers that seem like puddles
blur away the walking perfection
the synthetic machines that create us now.
How unattainable is the art we are blind to?

Not afar,     a perfect kiss
My skin looks beautiful when the scars dance.
Normal really,
the perfect imperfection is                 that
everything really,       truly                is normal

Wolfpack Contributor EIC Bios:  David L O’Nan & HilLesha O’Nan

By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

2 comments

  1. Stunning imagery in this poem, especially the phrases ‘rain-moon schizophrenic’ and ‘cold clotted air’, and the lines: ‘loving in a sudden smoke/bridges that vanish before the eyes’ – reminds me of Venice or Cambridge in February.

    Like

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