poetry.michaelgreenlee.com

poetry

Days like pale glass marbles spiral down. A perfect geometric tube, and drown. In oceanic depths of unexplained. Past, oppressive hefts of heat and sound,. But every time these two abstractions meet. The glass erupts an opalescent gleam. Apotheosis of a shattered beam. Of light) and stubbornly eludes defeat. A perforated world can’t contain. The words to abruptly redeem a thousand days;. Nameless meanings, seeping in, displace. The sense, and only brittle poems remain. So as the measured marble days amass.

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poetry | poetry.michaelgreenlee.com Reviews

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Days like pale glass marbles spiral down. A perfect geometric tube, and drown. In oceanic depths of unexplained. Past, oppressive hefts of heat and sound,. But every time these two abstractions meet. The glass erupts an opalescent gleam. Apotheosis of a shattered beam. Of light) and stubbornly eludes defeat. A perforated world can’t contain. The words to abruptly redeem a thousand days;. Nameless meanings, seeping in, displace. The sense, and only brittle poems remain. So as the measured marble days amass.

<META> KEYWORDS

1 poetry

2 michael greenlee

3 broken silence

4 schengen

5 ninth line

6 mississauga sunset

7 tunnel

8 valhalla road

9 blank

10 the narrows

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poetry,michael greenlee,broken silence,schengen,ninth line,mississauga sunset,tunnel,valhalla road,blank,the narrows,landing,chemong lake,the firelands,madame de champlain,lake michigan,the convalescent,semaphore,mosaic,awake,crashed,firefly,rush hour

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poetry | poetry.michaelgreenlee.com Reviews

https://poetry.michaelgreenlee.com

Days like pale glass marbles spiral down. A perfect geometric tube, and drown. In oceanic depths of unexplained. Past, oppressive hefts of heat and sound,. But every time these two abstractions meet. The glass erupts an opalescent gleam. Apotheosis of a shattered beam. Of light) and stubbornly eludes defeat. A perforated world can’t contain. The words to abruptly redeem a thousand days;. Nameless meanings, seeping in, displace. The sense, and only brittle poems remain. So as the measured marble days amass.

INTERNAL PAGES

poetry.michaelgreenlee.com

1

poetry — The Narrows

http://poetry.michaelgreenlee.com/2011/07/the-narrows

The sun points through the trees, and catches you. Pretending you exist, remembering. Another time the sunset punctured through. The precincts of your picturesque dissembling,. And all your fresh impressions overlay. Exquisite shards of memories, sublime. Echoes of dreams, like film from yesterday. Mistakenly exposed a second time. The lake furls itself, sheds a dimension;. Plays a shapeless line for several feet. Meandering without your blind intention. Against two continents that almost meet;.

2

poetry — Broken Silence

http://poetry.michaelgreenlee.com/2013/08/broken-silence

Days like pale glass marbles spiral down. A perfect geometric tube, and drown. In oceanic depths of unexplained. Past, oppressive hefts of heat and sound,. But every time these two abstractions meet. The glass erupts an opalescent gleam. Apotheosis of a shattered beam. Of light) and stubbornly eludes defeat. A perforated world can’t contain. The words to abruptly redeem a thousand days;. Nameless meanings, seeping in, displace. The sense, and only brittle poems remain. So as the measured marble days amass.

3

poetry — Awake

http://poetry.michaelgreenlee.com/2008/10/awake

Awake again. Again. Just yesterday. I woke this way, and clenched the same alarm. With soporific fists, and groaned the same. Half-gibberish anathema. Again. I startle out of bed, and stub my life. Against another day. A rampage of days. Unravels me like spools of sewing thread. One day the first confusion in my head. At five am was “someday I will die. For all these days of waking, where am I? October 12th, 2008. Beyond Which There Is No Passing. On the George Washington Bridge.

4

poetry — Tunnel

http://poetry.michaelgreenlee.com/2012/08/tunnel

Raw thoughts roll through a tunnel beneath my mind. And clatter noiselessly against the lack. Of syntax, and the sudden unrefined. Surging of sensation along a track. That could have carried syllables of stone. At night I marshal theories to attack. Those shapeless smugglers; when the distant drone. Begins to boil upwards through the floor,. I climb into my frantic dream, alone;. Grope in the dark, but the tunnel has no door. Fragments of clarity careen and stray. Outwards from a subterranean shore,.

5

poetry — Home

http://poetry.michaelgreenlee.com/2011/03/home

Woke on a plane in some unwanted air. Between two worlds, with that sudden fear. That bags or keys you’ve clutched for aren’t there,. Except the thing I couldn’t find was home. Woke between the stanzas of a poem,. A breath made infinite, and couldn’t hear. The voice of anyone I’d ever met:. All foreign, and the foreignness was me,. The sand expunged from in the oyster’s shell,. Into the endless ringing of no bell. Woke, like the night I woke in some remote. Midwestern town, and heard a train crisscross.

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poetry.michaelgreenlee.com

poetry

Days like pale glass marbles spiral down. A perfect geometric tube, and drown. In oceanic depths of unexplained. Past, oppressive hefts of heat and sound,. But every time these two abstractions meet. The glass erupts an opalescent gleam. Apotheosis of a shattered beam. Of light) and stubbornly eludes defeat. A perforated world can’t contain. The words to abruptly redeem a thousand days;. Nameless meanings, seeping in, displace. The sense, and only brittle poems remain. So as the measured marble days amass.

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