A Silvery, Slippery Thing

March 20, 2016

I, a silvery thing, come flashing by—
by night or day, I don’t know when.
I made a hook out of my intellect,
and forged it into an icon of man’s ire—

a slippery, silvery thing. My words
enter the skeleton of the mind,
which does not let the darkness out,
nor let the earth’s words sing.

Nor does a poem always rhyme—
it is as if we were too weak or too correct
to say the truth to ourselves—
too weak in the knees, sir, to genuflect.

For I, a slippery, silvery thing, cannot speak at all—
except in the guise of a whole cosmos—
so central to our fears that I must disguise
my voice again—or I will cut you with my lies.


2 Responses to “A Silvery, Slippery Thing”

  1. extrasimile Says:

    thanks Thomas. that’s what i had in mind here.

  2. Thomas Davis Says:

    Brilliant, Jim. Brilliant. A lyric. A slippery, silvery thing.

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