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An Original Poem | “Wall Paintings”

These brick buildings, well they won't help us now. It's not what the soul wants. The soul wants to open up Coconut shells and rain from clouds and hang leafy shells on your ears as an engagement ring. The Hungarian tribes inside it are unfrozen by the wandering Danube. They are on their way to the black sea to wash their rusty hands clean Of the poison the stag men cursed them with For dripping the cave dark without homage. Their hands' ache is released by the goddess of the river Second cousin to Athena due to be married any day now To the sea's never ending unbounded completeness. The hand that skims the shoals learns Russian Under the water and can speak to the wood carp now As the whole caravan is guided eastward by the alps breath. Eli's sister is swept down the Blue Ridges to the village That she spent her childhood running from To spin cotton into gold. A thread long enough to stretch the Atlantic and be sold. She's happy to have work again but has reseigned herself Of ever marrying. The soul doesn't want these things. The hand only wants water And the nose only the red and orange leaves Floating on the God of the Appalachian's breath. But she will come back. If you pray enough they shall release her. We'll sit in coffee shops in Paris all night writing lines Hoping the girl shall find him and the string reach the Hungarians in time. What do the poet's strike out at when they sleep? Do they think when they dream Or only dream of sleeping with her When the journey has been made And the cave stags can rise up their sacred hole again Lighting the darkness in the world above?






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