Poem A Day: Geometric Lament

The sun has fallen

from the expanse of my blood.

I'm chasing tornadoes 

and denying my incongruent angles

to sands in the wind.

Too many waltzes have ended, Mr. Stevens,

and not enough begun--

from the symmetry of culture and poetry

the music continues in three-quarter time.

Ariadne weaves beautiful bandages 

of silver and gold;

I tear them from my eyes,

rejoicing in my inconsistency.

Hating you almost as much as me

and still wanting to trace veins on your neck--

to touch delicate hands

pointing out the stars.

One of the things I love most about poetry are allusions. I love to write them, and I love trying to solve all of the allusions in the work of other poets. Would that I could solve all of the allusions in TS Eliot's The Wasteland! This poem is me playing around with allusion, language, and imagery. There's not that much of a deep meaning behind it (I don't think...) but I love the language!