Open Poetry #46 |
![]() ![]() |
Greta's Ragtime Jubilee |
![]() ![]() ![]() |
bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631![]() |
early on, I learned to live on air, now i am done being sturdy of bones. on Sundays, you braid the tiny billow I am, and I try not to assume anything, keep very still, so idle the day long, the heart, a flounce of took roses, an elegy, a metaphor for what hums through my bones, like Pan's midnight flute, ascending the liver's ten kinds of desire, the kidney's lust for sugar, while the body takes on a crossroad's weight, I've since learned to cringe before my knees buckle, there's a termite buried in the Jay, and the Jay in Puss's needled jaw, and Puss in the Wolf, hunger has always been the law, I've learned to peel off filth, and let it drift on the forest chill, pick at the sores on my lips and hands and turn them into earth, you've since kept me dry, in a cloak of fire, that I may never be restored, for hope was all the fire i knew, love has kept me from everything i have ever wanted, so now i slide between the branches, clothe myself in rain, return to you on the path that never ends, tears are what blind me, and memory is death dressed in its solo and ragtime jubilee. |
||
© Copyright 2010 babygirLPress - All Rights Reserved | |||
Edder Senior Member
since 2003-04-02
Posts 671 |
There is much truth in your words, Ms Bel1e. Enjoyed. |
||
bel1e Senior Member
since 2006-07-24
Posts 1631 |
Thanxx for checking this out, Edder |
||
![]() ![]() |
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
![]() ![]() ![]() |
All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. |