Another morning, another set of questions
from a dubious muse,
questions that hold down strangers and interrogate their dreams,
questions left like the fingerprints of thought burglars
that intrude and steal away sacks of vocabulary, family memories, and TV’s –
Such as this: A stitch in time saves what, exactly?
Do they sew up small holes in the universe
where seconds, minutes, or eons were leaking?
Where radio telescopes were beaming sports news
from WROX in Andromeda?
Outside, starlings chamber, then fire chirped buckshot
at the fading night,
I tweeze lead shot out of the soft velvet wounds –
stars on paper towels next to the sink,
blood on the sparkles
In the unseasonal warmth,
windows rise and fall like dynasties,
Isabel Allende singing from her apartment's pulpit
before the soldiers take her away,
wait, wait, wrong Allende
Are these answers, or the hiss
of a leaky world, space-time just the dusky tires
we drive around on – worn treads
and bad valves, our souls losing pressure –
we have to refill at the next stop
Miz Quickly – TSM – Shay’s WG
Scratch Space 
A most interesting poem. I was surprised and pleased to encounter Isabel Allende’s name – one of my favourite authors – of her memoir, not her fiction. (Her family history is more remarkable than anything one could make up.) I really enjoyed this poem…..especially resonate with our souls losing pressure. I sure feel that way under the weight of our current world.
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That third stanza is a feat of imagination. Blood on the sparkles! That whole stanza is amazing.
Reality as a leaky balloon, who knew? Sure feels that way in the 2020’s though, doesn’t it?
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“Are these answers, or the hiss
of a leaky world, ”
Very poignant questions.
Thanks for dropping by my blog
Much💛love
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If only we could stitch up the worlds current problems before the tear grows bigger. It is unseasonable warm here and the window rise and fall. Interrogating dreams, the endless search for answers. Could Sherlock Holmes solve the case of the slow leak?
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Rich and powerfully pessimistic — in a wonderful way Q! I know I’m leaking lifeblood. Excellent…
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Checking my GPS ~~ oops, missed the next stop. No going back, like Rob, I felt futility on a “grand”scale.
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I felt the entropy to my very core, the spinning fragmentation of the self as well as the universe caught up in a space-time disorientation: what makes sense exactly? and if we were told, would we believe while in the “fading night” we “tweeze lead shot out of the soft velvet wounds”? Poignant cry in the dark.
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I love the dystopian beauty of this, qbit. These lines especially were vivid and wonderfully chiselled:
“questions left like the fingerprints of thought burglars”
“Do they sew up small holes in the universe
where seconds, minutes, or eons were leaking?”
“In the unseasonal warmth,
windows rise and fall like dynasties,”
“Are these answers, or the hiss
of a leaky world, space-time just the dusky tires
we drive around on”
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This is deep and yet fleeting all at once Qbit! The questions and lines that only you could have crafted are brilliant!
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I like it all but that last stanza… stellar.
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The way this builds through description is very skillfully done..a slow burn to begin, than that third stellar stanza, and it just goes ballistic from there(as it were.) The final stanza is a tight finish that sews it all up. I particularly liked the dynasties of windows.
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