the Goldfields

a poem by Dale Costello, Australia - poetry writer, author, poet

Goldfields
mined of the dirt
and all it would grow
trade me in
this broken pen
the wordy novel
hearts
like Alcatraz
and very few of us
escaping

then the room
you're living in
disappears
and you're lost at the gate
searching the sky
for the night
searching
that last exploding synapse
for the means of flight

Too small for the grave
too big for the hole
clouds
and canvas sky
paint
as it dries
into rain
poems
taped to the sun
wings
oblivion
the touch of your hand..

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