Ghosts of Energy

“We are the ghosts of energy, let the tridents strike unsuspecting flesh!”

— Tristan Tzara, 1919

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O these brittle white squiggles

among flowers of ink

 

floating so languidly

 

on sombre silence!

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O the sparks that I’ve picked

 

on the black autumn nights

 

dusting with fine gold

 

the quivering windshield!

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Ions are dancing

 

in a grazing frontlight –

 

wistful eyes towards where

 

the stars are sleeping!

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And in the sacred neon

 

 

I was floating down the dark withered plain

 

 

among souls too pale-eyed

to know the skies,

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as ghosts of energy

 

with soft little shivers

 

ooze random patterns of radiowaves

 

into the tide

of the night.

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by Peter Bies & Arthur Rimbaud

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Peter Bies © 2010

 

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