Smoke and mirrored faces of a man's heart, I am
Asked a question of helium balloons, and clouds.
I am promised stars, the moon, and frontier beyond.
The frontier is rumored to have the best wine.
The moon, they say, possesses the best milk and honey.
The stars, though fraught with ice and ether, can shine bright,
Brighter than the Sahara desert. And above all else, I was promised a cool river bed.
Alas, the frontier was merely vinegar, the milk curdled, and I was consumed with
A Saharan thirst until all things turned to soot, ash, and dark volcanic glass.
It does not matter which way the cog spins, but it will spin just the same.
Puzzles must align to the grooves and sieves and be as trees.
Acorns in the spring, and blown wind leaves in the fall, or
The next choice will be made in hurricane winds and dismembered oak trees.
One of five of poems by Sam Owens published in Black Magnolias a Literary Journal.
Vol. 5, No. 4; December-February 2011-2012; Page 55
"To me this is a coming of age poem showing how I feel what it means to be a man."
Individual issues/copies can be purchased at http://www.psychedelicliterature.com/blackmagnolias.html
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