Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Come Back Blistered



Come back, blistered, into a nursery rhyme.
I’ve heard about aspiration’s flames; I know
that the stars smile a little too fiercely, sometimes,

and that sunbeams burn hotter the higher you climb.
It’s all right, if you’re tired, to let go.
Come back, blistered, into a nursery rhyme.

Your eyes, in their anguish for something sublime,
are losing the tame touch of pleasures below.
Do the stars smile a little too fiercely sometimes,

when you face them, flung over your body, through time,
till your hollows are all ecstasy and overflow?
Come back, blistered, into a nursery rhyme.

You must miss the earth’s songs: clink of nickels and dimes,
muffled footfalls and laughter in snow.
The stars smile a little too fiercely, sometimes,

so, when your towering hunger yields to peaches and limes
and your tired eyes itch for a plain candle’s glow,
come back, blistered, into this nursery rhyme.
Stars must smile a little too fiercely, sometimes.