Silos Cutting through the soft morning flesh When our backs would sing beneath each burred weight They'd suckle though skipping; tightening one to another Their cobble-brown shadows smack against the aluminum hips Through the glistening embers of imminent light In these distances though ever nearer The silos tossing on the bolstering banks would heave Their occurrence alight in bawling brass And orange and violet shimmers Their flight is procryptic; needless and though full of need It is quiet atop these brittle shelves of daylight And I seem to remember there are days such as these When each ripple brims upon impervious heights Binds and whimpers as though the water was all ablaze Then evening wheels its chaff about in angelic sheers Curbing the flurries of night against the quayside tow Sieving the rifts of needle rush one through another And the plummeting banks into one effortless shore I bend upon these shores, mollify the beaten city Submerge revelations long since past times I could consider them When at night from the top of clay eaves The houses looked like floods of salt gun pellets rupturing the industrial mean I'd rise from the bleached-blood timber of them docks Packed in like God's good skeleton over the suck of the bottom Then in upper class drifts in my dirty camouflage jacket A patched cigarette and the eddie van record my friend let me borrow The untamed visage of an educated family that left me expressionless, needless The leopard's balm on an otherwise silent strip I raced the white-hot comet across the tobacco tracts and through the ribs of sky Plunging the sent of the earth from the crushing blades The house stood still, a deep winded bluff across the inland sheaves From the fence, I saw them in the kitchen standing, waiting if I'd sent the end Waiting if I'd seen the sweet nymph pitching about her rusted roots Her mists rising like dabbing ambrosia Against them blackened silos jutting out Like the translucent and forgotten gates of heaven
Jennifer Griffin's Questions:
I would like to know if you think that the images are clear, if what the
poem is about comes across clearly through the images.
What of the use of language.