Sunday, March 26, 2006

Ashes To Dream Dust

He rat-holed dreams,
like waded dollar bills,
stuffed in
liquor-scented possibilities,
down-the-road,
one-day,
sort-of-schemes.
“Man cannot live by bread alone...”,
with emphasis on plurality.
Moths eat paper,
bread molds, and
down-the-road
was a “bed-n-breakfast” marker,
on a map he never owned.

9 comments:

Aurora said...

How are you churning these out day after day??

Pat Paulk said...

I close my eyes and type what I see. Scary isn't it?

Aurora said...

What talented eyelids you have.:)

polona said...

what images, and i love the ending!

Masago said...

Each line or two on their own do not seem to be going anywhere...but somehow by the end the poem you are able to generate the most unique and unusual emotions.

Borut said...

On a map he never owned. Can find myself on this one.

steve said...

seems a lot of plans go like this - good capture Pat!

minerva bloom said...

Excellent and heartbraking write.
How interesting each people's landscape and soul geography.

J. Andrew Lockhart said...

good one!