Poem By Sarah Capella Smith
Here, it is like the Dust Bowl, a black hole,
Dreams snuffed from a candle with an exhuasted flame.
Blood beats like a curse, a strange fear -
The sheets! The sheets! Twice through. There are two
Eyes selling sanity to the stars.
Pretty and full of wishes they vanish.
Smiles in the dark, hot breath and heartbeats
Infuriate its ebony host, this opaque ghost, which
Unfolds from the wings of a furious magpie, itching for sleep.
What is this attraction, a poor addiction, a failed restriction?
It is sugar, or salt; I cannot tell. A starving red mouth
Heats, immediate as a full stop, few words shy of the truth
And children don't like mirrors, a surprised face glimmers;
Two pupils adjusting to the light.
A sensitivity of hands; the clock's -
Trapping cartoons - paper people - white emotions
To the wallpaper; patience beings to taper
And I wish that I'd've kept my head.
(22nd August 2007)