WHO SEEDS THIS PARADE
1
scattered remains
of what we were;
Christmas baubles
dropped on steel,
jagged yet shiny,
sadly beautiful,
bright cutting edges
and unending pain
2
comic stances
gone all unknown
in the strange world
of twisted time;
the bus driver whispers
and turns to mime,
we have no idea
who seeds this parade
3
blocks array
now beyond count,
what might stack
or perchance build
with these left here?
we transgress lines
and seek the sea
unable to recount why
4
winter echoes
hard amid the gaps:
the chill, the freeze,
the frosting of the glass,
the warp and huddle,
the unhappy shake,
the loss and lack,
the endless need
5
can these be miracles
or are they hallucinations?
what appears now here
surely can not be,
or have we phased
from one world to another
where what is not
evolves out of thin air?
- Brendan Tripp
10/07/2002
Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp