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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/720475-Common-Quarters
Rated: ASR · Poetry · Contest · #720475
For Son of Slam 3... Our home is without rooms.
In our home without rooms,
a sun-softened candle’s waxy,
lazy melt
becomes both metaphor and marvel,
blending art with emptiness.

Picasso runs blurry all over the place.
A self-painted prophet’s
pouncing purr
echoes the un-walled everything,
blending absurdity with meaning.

Our window nook is now playing films:
a skyscraper peephole’s blinking
Cyclops eye
casts crooked glances indiscriminate,
blending metropolis with legend.

In our home without rooms,
a night-gentled whisper’s yielding,
tender release
becomes both sentinel and host,
blending welcome with goodbye.
© Copyright 2003 winklett (winklett at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/720475-Common-Quarters