The sonnet lights the written scene for musing.
A spider’s web gets pregnant with pinatas
of rain drops where the stars are jolted cruisers.
The moments breathe as universal strata
keep losing tracks of all galactic fuses,
claim victories o’er solar light armadas.
The wind smokes chimney pipes, drinks echo’s smoothies
where love starts journeys chirping through cicadas.
She turns to white in mothers’ breasts as timers,
forgets for everything except the wa-wa
and tries to put the cries deep down in cradles.
The spiders are lung-weavers for a summer.
Their webs, when torn, set aimlessly to travel
such as are forsaken words in endless fables.
9 October 2009
SonnetV
© Copyright: Юрий Лазирко, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109100907245
Свидетельство о публикации №109100907245
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