Well Old Son: Part Four

IV

Liquid fire burns but does not shine in misty night skies. In the shadows of a broken imagination, a bewildered body cowers. A simple remedy: spoonfuls of psychedelic poems stirring the sound of colour. Toxically allured by scintillating oil rainbows, more vivid and less illusional than those of pure rain.

A corkscrewed crack: kaleidoscopic red breaking dawn.

A pox-scarred land. A shattered lens. A faded photograph.

The violin contrived. The tone clawed. The bottle emptied.

A convoluted thought. A hypnogogic state. A cryptic gaze.

April is poetry month.

I want all you Medium writers and readers to celebrate poetry by committing to a daily microdose of poetry! April is not the cruellest month!

Here's your brief guide on safe poetic microdosing:

Here are a few poems I prepared earlier for your experimentation purposes:

Stevi-Lee Alver is an Australian writer and tattoo artist. She lives in the middle of Brazil with her wife. She loves bush walks and waterfalls but misses the ocean.