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Thermometer

Now that you’ve bordered
your face with hair the fringe
elements heat quicker almost
mercury–Now that you’ve murdered

the purpose and the poise and now
the pearls lurid between sticky
fingers you bounce nobler than
elocution and similarly glimmer in

daylight gone feral–Smeared with snow
now you swim viciously my fervid
streets–Now the pressure
borders your face and wraps itself

around the heat–Now that owl
is cold and full of awe

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Posted by Lewis LaCook at 1:57 pm | Postmodern Poetry | Permalink

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