Walking Backwards

Walking Backwards

Thinking backwards is a form
of forward suicide
where all angels are dead
where streets turn feral,
overgrown by mind fields,
whole cities replaced
by tall trees as stars
turn on their own lights
clustering into Chagall villages
I walk backwards through,
trying each locked door I pass.
Retracing my steps,
eyes comb through grass
hunting for that lost ring
of imaginary keys.
Pushed from all sides
I’m unplugged, swarming
inside with colors of a dream
my mind can't contemplate
without journeying through.
Flecked amber, pale, violent,
drifting across the pastel face
of translucent blooming
sea anemones near
a mottled star whose five
wet paws curl around a muscle
while the ancient preening scuttle
of a crab dances over sea weed
before disappearing under rock.
So beautiful.
Don't get me wrong.
Life is as fragile as opal.
Sharp as the nails of a cross
and tart as cat's breath.
But how it makes bold
thinking itself invincible
inside its temporary shell.

Scott Malby

Posted over on Ascent Aspirations

Scott Malby has been featured on numerous sites, in anthologies and collections both in the U.S. and abroad. He has a poor memory and quirky sense of humor. Honesty, compassion and caring represent examples of his foibles. If something isn't fun, he won't do it. He lives in Coos Bay, Oregon, a fishing community on the Central Oregon Coast. He is an essayist, columnist and reviewer as well as a poet. Currently, he is in the final planning stages regarding a new small press imprint. New work will be out soon in Wounded Pulse, The Other Side of the Ragged Edge, Muse Apprentice Guild, Dream People, Blaze Vox and other places.