Demolition workers in midtown



Feeding thoughts emotion

Daring reason's return.

Waiting time. Ended song.

Distracted by lost surprises.

Carving moments of echoed visions,

Will we last through the past?

Passing fingers across lips of poryphry,

Unclosing chalcedony eyes,

Alabaster abdomen and cradling thighs

To palm history.

Hold back my horizon

Like a Sung scroll

Slowly startling with its strokes

As another hand rolls up my past.

Aging shocks with no collective support,

Succumbing to the savor of the new.

I am the conductor of a life not all my own.

Carter B. Horsley

Next Poem: Cornice

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