Tuesday 6/20/2006 10:46:00 PM

Does this dilute the poison? This process of adding text to thoughts. Or does it make it more potent. Create an explosive. To burst this padlock on my heart. Let the animals out of their zoo. To hunt. To struggle. To live again like living things do. With claws out and fangs ready. Always hungry enough to give chase. To kill for a taste of.

Don't I know her. So puffed up with poetry's petticoat. A facade of words to measure the breadth of superfluous habits. Buying candy right off the shelf. Longing for the time when it took weeks to save up for just once piece. It's never tasted as good as it did then. Every penny I've saved for something that can't be bought.

Short walks over long distances. I stuck out my tongue and he swallowed my lips. A strange piped-piper luring all the thoughts away from the village with a different kind of flute.

He played me so many songs, but the one I'll always remember is how he listened. Especially when I had nothing to say.

He always heard me then.

The left knee was where the scar from the incision still waited for new flesh to cover it up.

But I liked the way it always showed.

1 comments:
vendella von messershmitt said...

He played me so many songs, but the one I'll always remember is how he listened.


Thank you for that one. It's prefect. It flooded me with sweet and melancholy.

Every morning now I awaken to see what stars you've pulled down overnight to ease my pain.

You help.



| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.