Gedicht
Rickey Laurentiis
Study in Black
Study in Black
Study in Black
There’s a wind in the grass –Is there here
a boat’s mast claiming my lonely night too?
I see the stars
can’t be called hanged, exactly,
just hanging down,
not over emptiness, but honest ground,
the moon trying the black skin of this river, black corpse . . .
But, even plainer –
I wonder if these words, my words,
will ever bring me fame.
I have my age, my injuries. They limit me.
I’m like some spook bird
I know, solo and roped between
where rotting happens and a sky.
© 2014, Rickey Laurentiis
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Study in Black
There’s a wind in the grass –Is there here
a boat’s mast claiming my lonely night too?
I see the stars
can’t be called hanged, exactly,
just hanging down,
not over emptiness, but honest ground,
the moon trying the black skin of this river, black corpse . . .
But, even plainer –
I wonder if these words, my words,
will ever bring me fame.
I have my age, my injuries. They limit me.
I’m like some spook bird
I know, solo and roped between
where rotting happens and a sky.
Study in Black
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