Invisible as glass, a shield hangs,
from sky to scuffed concrete,
from east to west and sunrise round to sunrise,
between me and the world.
A barrier I seemed to slip through
with alcohol as catalyst, altering molecules
like fire and fork scrambling an egg,
itself remaining unchanged,
while I, apparently on the other side,
exuberant, headlong, almost heedless
from pole to pole and sunset up to sunrise,
was on a course to fry my brain.
Now, behind (or inside) the barrier –
if it even exists, except as I create it –
headstrong, almost giddy, I recombine words in poetry
like fire in an iron forge, contained, continually
roaring up the chimney.
About Llyn Clague
Llyn Clague walks the dog that’s been dead five years every morning except in the sleet, works his forehand and backhand on weekends, and looks for poetry wherever it can be found. His poems have been published widely, including in Ibbetson Street, Atlanta Review, Wisconsin Review, California Quarterly, Main Street Rag, New York Quarterly, and other magazines. His seventh book, Hard-Edged and Childlike, was published by Main Street Rag in September, 2014. Visit www.llynclague.com.
4 Comments
Most impressive – as always. This poem is powerful and meaningful, dramatic and deeply felt. Congratulations!
Ah how the artist’s passion doth roar inside his shield! Deftly expressed!
Congrats! Exellently expressed as usual.
Particularly nice: “exhuberant, headlong, almost heedless…”