And I’m Stickin’ To It

2 02 2010

This is my scarred soliloquy

I opened a can of treason on the morning of the third day

the product stank in its concentrated form but when diluted was quite tolerable

but the resurrection machines were made by infidels and heretics
and the internet is bubbling with mock gospels and plagues and news of plagues

this is my awkward argument

I was blue as Billie Holliday or Lord Krishna
espresso locked horns with the whiskey mechanism
it was a wet night in the Land of Circumstance.
the oligarchy was relaxing with guiltless appetite

this is my muffled monograph

I caught sight of a stone maiden cold from wandering
in her hair was the bright bud of hurt and suspicion
she wore it well. It was wilted at the edges like her eyes.

It was no surprise that she had a story to tell
not a long one of her road to hell and back
but a short tale that she fabricated on the spot
concerning things that are and things that are not.

her words tore me from the moment
gentle as fingers about a root
and she stroked my memory
just long enough and
just slow enough.
add to that the drone of her voice

this is my dangling dialogue

she twirled her tongue around her mouth and swallowed once
I saw the seed of generations in her pupils
I was her student then and let her guide me through her intricacies
each fold and membrane a chapter
she shook when it was over.

This is my story

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One response

2 02 2010
lady grace

Heavy-great.

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