The paper
That was a mere red-banded paper
Itching to reclaim its original state
Of squeezed out bagasse and bamboo
With absolutely no musical possibility
As lonely as our drooping eyelids.
Behind the vacuous legal scroll
Some faded white trousers reiterated
Black legal existence and bow tie.
Our sleep-together of fearsome nights
Leaped out of the window ,cat-silent,
Into the sterilized portals of wordy law.
Our mummified before was not this;
Our after-thoughts slowly cauterized us
As we waited for the black decision.
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Poetry based upon actual experiences, not one thought up in the intellectual aridness of a pseudo-thinker. Words as they mean in the specific context of recollected thought or image , not meaning several things at a time but that which re-creates an aura or a haze of an earlier experience.
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