Snow is a vagabond oat, dear.
It percolates winter: this wandertime
stooge who'll traipse, come to town-- thin
vanity semi-schooled, fluorishing
six-tongues unholstered.
We'll call it shock-- the toxic
accretion of some comic pain. Your hand
is a sandwich for children
who magistrate--
On your sad knees!
Sodding river.
The meter slows-- hammer on tarmac.
Decant the old words, crack
one rust-colored fuse. I've licked
the sparse wine from the glass-stem
in what you
laughingly called a silk suit--
Bus stop posing.
When were you radiant, angel?
What stray cull stillbore you? You cradle
thin bowls. Lend me one,
Danaud, I'm bailing; I'm bound
to your side by a stone.
Come, come aerie!
Take flight to your reason-filled haven.
Perfection comes ordained: it's sanity, rouged
by the miracle images kept of ourselves,
untarnished by parallax cues.
Too, too cozy.
Stop bleeding feng-shui on my table.
I take back my life. I have no wish to be your
white-coated gentleman of needles and plums,
Tick
tick tick tock
tickle
(coughing)
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Leaving The Vampire Breathless
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3 comments:
ok ginger, didi,
is this any better? didi, thx for the welcome. if you know how, do you want to delete the other version?
If you can post, you can delete (only your own). Hit the blogger button that you used to make the post. Scroll down. You'll see the earlier version with a an edit to the left and delete option to the right. Hit it. It's gone.
Interesting poem!
Pris
this is dynamite, but don't ask me what it means!
I take cues from the vagabond,
the sodding, the laughingly posing,
the shock, the stillborn angel, the bleeding.
tick tock I love it.
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