there is no tree,
bird or butterfly
outside this room
with its cat's claw
telephones
and leperous
machines
a girl in the
sterile chamber
next door
starts to speak
stutters,
then stops
her lipstick is
smeared into
a scarlet
hyphen
her hair a greasy,
gothic tongue
I think about
chocolate chip cookies
and this
mornings news
story of a snake
that befriended
its hamster dinner
and by all
accounts is
still hungry
i move to refill
the paper tray
with the ghosts
of a thousand
dead trees
and think of the girl
wearing nothing
and of how she
likes to lick
apricot
jam
off her
fingertips
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4 comments:
that is so desolate. and the staccato tone makes quite an impact.
cape
wonderful posts:
"story of a snake
that befriended
its hamster dinner
and by all
accounts is
still hungry"
love this part
so absolutely much
we starve ourselves
for love
never the
other way around
like transience i like this
for its desolate feel
but
also for its sense of voyeuristic
intimacy
trans> i think i might have transferred my absolute hatred at working in an office into this poem. yes, i think so.
blog this> thank you and yes we do and we shouldn't
floots> i voyeured my own feelings, methinks.
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