The Shadow Who Cannot Exit

chester maynes

I kiss the blue sky
of the April morning.
Let the moon be jealous
and the seas roar with
loud and aching thunder.

I brush my hands on
the ground of the earth.
The summer scents of
human skins are there
in the crowded picnic.

I move from left to
right and creep on the
brocaded sand where the
colored stones are mute
and deaf like walls.

I burn my tongue with
coals of gossips and the
ears of malicious monsters
are eager to eavesdrop from
my expensive conversation.

I feel the scratches of
the evening like a rough
cowardice of revenge,
dismissing the stars,
wondering why I am the
shadow who cannot exit.


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