Build and Burn Bridges with Franny and Zooey
There, in the silence of withering stars,
I shivered along the unruffled hills
And their sleeping eyes repents
With the congealed basin I held
Like a folded hand in a prayer
There, in the expanse and distance,
My throat swelled and burn
From suffocating the phonetics
That represents what I, alone, experience
There, in the absence of a bridge.
There, in the discreet mayhem of the night,
I contemplated in dissonant harmony
Vying like an exultant architect, I envision
In geometrical proportions and calculations
Bridging towers vivaciously looming.
There, in my pensive construction,
The foaming crest of the sea heaved
And rolled like a bucketful of pearls
Resembling the dreadful facet of my smile
That embodied all my new-fangled hopes.
And there, in my skyscraping dreaming
In the boudoir of psychedelic pyrotechnics,
I shambled over my own erratic current
With a perverting terror of solitude
Rousing from the frailty of the ephemeral lights.
There, before the bridge climbed into the ceiling,
And reach your dicey and succinct interest
I overheard Franny and Zooey by the texts
When I forgot, or refused, to be a filter and bent
Everything into my wryly gnarled conception.
And there, I saw the Fat Lady before the final page,
A match on her corpulent fingers
A fire in her oil-black eyes
And the bridged ignited in front of me
Slowly and malleably becoming a valley of ashes.
And there, upon the plummeting cinders,
I had built a bridge and I had burned
With dispositions and misconceptions
From whose eyes, I'd like to know,
There, I shall restore and deteriorate forever.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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