The words always come back in
trickles
Dribbles and mute like the faded
echo of slammed doors
Wanting to twist the lock’s knob,
peek out into the vacancy
Imagine and power the portal closed
once more
Just to hear the pound jeer the
silence off its perch
Staring at the cell with its
infinite retort
The madness of an ocean of lines to
express
A muse peering to listen like a
siren
Whisper, whisper and dove to her
home in the coral
Flash and the way the moonlight
glistens in her hair
One knows this is all it can ever be
for her
Shadowed alcoves and glimpses
She has no legs to walk on boats or
stairwells
Just dancing flippers and a hell of
dark side
Men dragging themselves to try to
breathe in her fathoms
She knows not to pretend too long,
because she does not want to be a killer
It’s his damn fault for not
listening
Speaking poetry and hope to a
mermaid prying eyes on the surface
Each simile is an anchor, each
metaphor, a plank
For a vagabond opening and closing
doors on a pirate frigate
Islands and beachheads shoot for
attempting to replenish his stores
“I ain’t got no home in this world
anymore”
Woody sail me, sing me to sleep for
the thousandth time
“A hot and dusty road a million feet
have trod.”
Arrogant part is that he thought she
might be looking for a man like him
He thought he touched a tender place
and the line between love and a wound
Is like razor wire, opening the
patient might bleed her out on the table
Better to just be a body of feel
nothing, save the secrets for the worms
Good listeners for every Goliath to
become food for the lubricus terrestris
Annelida wrap leaching bands
absorbing the arrogant absolutes
Imposing the idea of demand onto the
other: mother, stepfather, colleagues, him
Expectations generating from within
the waters, not from above
Stay swimming; “It ain’t me babe,”
asking you to change
That’s just your own voice echoing
in the waters rounding back in the tide
No comments:
Post a Comment