offering
---jerry

in a mirror,
in a handful of them,
eight quicksilver shards.
in a crimson streaked handful
comes orange like a melting pot,
comes blue in a warm ice floe,
comes yellow in hypodermics
glinting gold glimmering in acrylic
paint mix as the handful is
held to the sky, held to the west.
the sun. reflected.
burning circular at the top
of the spiral,
a white emergency flare
all eyes fix around;
Mothers heavy hammer, time,
sparking like a friction wheel,
passing.
the handful, the shards,
the blood the sky - gleaming hard
as the head points down
eyes like worms scanning the dirt
never facing the setting star
yet held high the offering of
blood and broken glass.
06/17/06
jerry
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Psychedlic ideas for me. Intriguing poem. Miss Tat
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This poem shows why I never stare into the mirror to long. Seriously very good poem!!! ))))Peacefrog