10-28-2017, 09:09 PM
Winona Ryder (Slight Return)
Winona Ryder points to a closer
deeper impulse in me
that animates my soul—
discretely rearranging magic
made of Hammer Horror flicks
and 90s hippies dressed in black.
The horizon moans.
The road hollers back,
and finds Winona kneeling in the grass,
half awake and dreaming
of some secret clocks,
electronic dogs,
and the frightened beasts that feed them.
Then, just before all hell breaks loose,
and devils scull the sunshine,
she lights the fuse
on all the world’s unexploded fireworks of joy.
Winona Ryder points to a closer
deeper impulse in me
that animates my soul—
discretely rearranging magic
made of Hammer Horror flicks
and 90s hippies dressed in black.
The horizon moans.
The road hollers back,
and finds Winona kneeling in the grass,
half awake and dreaming
of some secret clocks,
electronic dogs,
and the frightened beasts that feed them.
Then, just before all hell breaks loose,
and devils scull the sunshine,
she lights the fuse
on all the world’s unexploded fireworks of joy.