I have turned around now, twice
still the hand deals thrice it's devils lot.
too wise. too calm
the love life of a rat
born of a breeding hat's long island sound.
this body, old and derelict
dead below the knees.
it is only when I sneeze I dare to bleed.
with my fennel chin
my chicory and a hand-held photograph of a swollen eye
that points me south to where the pleasant people die;
it is here I am more hollow than my Eliot suggests.
a smell of beer. a smell as yet I have yet to comprehend.
there is no-one here but all that never ends.
old gods serene in a fury with a tablespoon of salt.
depression lights it's cigarette
and there they are
one million strong on a breakfast plate
begging me to circumsize the mothers as they sleep.
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: October 18th, 2024 11:33
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 30
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Online)
Comments3
Wonderful dear Melvin
it is here I am more hollow than my Eliot suggests.
a smell of beer. a smell as yet I have yet to comprehend.
there is no-one here but all that never ends.
Love these lines, and a great ending as you always do. Kudos 🌹
thank you Teddy.
good to see you back my friend.
Another dark poem from the prince of darkness. One line after another of the unthinkable and like from a nightmare comes the incubus who calmly sits on a chair beside the bed awaiting the awakening. Great lines and images
you are most kind and generous Soren, as always.
very much appreciate your comments and thoughts.
Wow! 😯
A deep, dark and
captivating write!! ✍️
Great read, 💯
the imagery
is out of sight! 👍
Best regards ✌️ Thad
you are most kind Thad.
thank you.
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