a ceiling undressed
poses defiant,
a home stripped
of bric-a-brac, derelict
linings of my heart
I enter and confess.
you claim your life
is different; it remains
a choice of the textures we mesh:
mettle and silk
lace and trust.
a milky spoonful of advice:
that chimera is your one
pure host.
.
Notice the eyebrows, visor, nose and closed mouth. It's waiting for a victim.
ReplyDeleteNom nom nom nom!!!
Oh, D. Have you seen the opera Sweeny Todd?
ReplyDeleteWe could dance in the Boiler Room
until you put an end to it.
I am reluctant to comment on your poetry. To be honest the words are so crafted that I "feel" them rather than find concrete meaning. Does that make any sense?
ReplyDeleteSo here with youse guys I'm gonna attempt to develop what I will call the synesthetic review.