Open Poetry #10 |
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Fever (revised repost) |
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Master Senior Member
since 1999-08-18
Posts 1867Boston, MA ![]() |
“...and, like eggs in the frying pan, the face spills its eyes all over the pillowcase.” J. Brodsky Arid thirst crams my larynx with silence, Laughing hunger arises inside, Like the sun through the shades, through my eyelids, Burning rings scorch my eyes with their light. It’s unbearably hot, -- hell is showing its preview. Down the cheeks, sultry dreams in small beads, Slide and rest on chapped lips, then continue, Down the firmament, falling like seeds. Is this hell or an aftermath of a global warming? Both are bearable, but I think that it’s neither. Turn it down, Goodness! I’ve got the warning! No reply... – this must be a fever. Check out my poetry here: http://cafepoetry.com/stage1/andrey_kneller.htm#My%20Hamlet |
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© Copyright 2000 Andrey Kneller - All Rights Reserved | |||
catalinamoon![]()
since 2000-06-03
Posts 9543The Shores of Alone |
Good stuff here. Very good. Sandra |
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Master Senior Member
since 1999-08-18
Posts 1867Boston, MA |
Thanks, I'm happy you liked it! |
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