I wrote this poem to explain to myself the past pickled here
What I have done here is to slavishly steal his idea
Just think of it as a dispatch from the rabbit hole
Last night I saw the sun rise red
It glittered something fierce
Your prints are everywhere
As long as you don't say a word to me
a dream of love is all you'll be
I can't see why you're here at all
I listen to those lies they tell
Sometimes I contemplate gouging out my own ears
Everything you said is still running through my head
so that's that
I love you is just a statement I let slip
The first dead person I saw crushed him deep in the dust
Too much boy and not enough frog
At least frogs know what to do with their tongues
Is that all I can do? Is that a crutch?
Living afraid is better than dying
We wanted to confess our sins but there were no takers
He's yelling in a hushed tone
When did living become a word on a checklist?
Nothing's making sense
We seem to have twice as many words
I've taken one too many drinks and my mind turns off
Forgetting that reading isn't always taking
I'm like really hard on myself as a writer
and anyone else I've forgotten to attack
I only go where the wind takes me
A lot of my poems come from forcing meaning onto everyday things
I'm trying to be responsible
A pseudo-poet in velveteen trousers
This is my demon
My purpose is to follow my dreams in my bare feet
Tears for your face while it thaws.
Compiled by Marianne Hales Harding
No comments:
Post a Comment