2 2 1 [poem]
Two broken eggshells
(inside skin holding parts together)
met along the alleyway
of love’s long dream —
Their yolks shot through with yellow
though anything but mellow was the ride
Two cracked-up nutshells
(not completely shattered into shards)
collided in the ethermist
of scarred entrails
unveiling untold treasure
which struggles for the measure of its stride
Two blemished vases
(glaze fissured fine in lacework pattern)
rubbed against the weaving writhes
of wrestling groups
of figurines in aspic
who deigned to move their limbs against the tide
Two [un]fathomed craters
(holes filled with white-hot liquid lava)
raised the rather vapid haze
of strangish but
ardoured theme forays to claim
that plumed volcanic ash electrified
Two flawedlike figures
(gingerly embarked on submarine)
grope in temporary dark
of unfulfilled
potential cataclysmic
rattled but rhythmic procreating bride
Two doting dovetails
(hearts open hoping no more broken)
somethinged one another thoughts
of evermore
and steeped in lasting strongness
are nevermore by mergement mortified
© 2011, Alan Morrison
The Naked Troubadour 