torment has never been my shtick
odd man out blinks in his knickers
winsome girls silenced by a brick
and all my feathered boas round the neck
dictate to me great consciousness
offer a platitude for my artlessness
i'm ten minutes late with my defense
and all my feathered boas round the neck
i'm cutting myself again she said
and I wonder how to stop her blood
dipping into salty wounds the bread
and all my pretty boas round the neck
voices i've heard from bearded men
under the width of my acoustical burka
the yolk is separated from the albumen
and all my pretty boas round the neck
3 commentaires:
"winsome girls silenced by a brick"... made me think of the wives and daughters that get stoned to death in Islam.
The entire second stanza really hits home for me. This is a fascinating poem!
I haven't posted anything new lately. I'm just stopping by looking for inspiration. Is this a new write for you?
yes, that's the ticket! :>>)) partially written friday--almost gave it up for its "nonsense"--and completed saturday. we must press on, rose, even blue! :>>)) xooxoxoxoxoxoxoxox
removed the entire last stanza. "yolk separated from the albumen" seemed to say it all... the rest, too explicit. xoxoxoxooxox
Enregistrer un commentaire