pebbles
over the eyes
beautiful vacancies
and folded hands
our true home
land of inanimate flesh
gray skin
in sunken grave beds
and operas
theater of mice
while tumbled hair still grows
we are already dead
waiting for the burning barge necropolis; to
shuttle seas raven
vanishing point
age; a slow erasure
the mind still wreathed into the torrents of life
morals transmute into desires lost
every inhalation
a going going gone
the only savage kisses;
crypt tongues slow unwinding
with the allusions of a destiny
forgotten
by niggling chatter
and the price of a chicken while
bathing in a tide pool abyss
of inked black teas
i hold fast
losing steps
a worn animal, waiting
till sanctuary comes
Comments
Surprise, surprise...
I get to have another look at this side of you. You lose nothing in the transition from extreme and graphic sexual content to the gloom of a drudgered life. [I made that word up; drudgered], but I think you can figure out how I came up with that word. Yes, we all come to the concluson, that we will not last forever and think often of what was; while we wait for the sanctuary of forgetfulness. As per usual, you thread words with seemingly no connection, into lines that cannot be forgotten. [I will of course forget as soon as I leave this]. "pebbles
over the eyes
beautiful vacancies
and folded hands"
I wonder.... Could you, would you; write something of unbridled joy?
I certain that it would be a very interesting work. ~ Geezer.
.
Hi Geezer
First thank you for your kind comment :)
I had a very good friend actually die and then was later revived I asked about his death experience
His response was that life is overrated
stream of consciousness
about death. You do have the mind of an abstract painter, I suppose you paint as you write, right?
You use a very full pallet and attack the canvas in different sections, stepping like a tiger reader to plunge back.
The poem is again a beat rant. Always in fashion.
You have a comma and two semi colon in the work...i would punctuate or not punctuate, but not some punctuation. When I see that doesn't feel right. Why not punctuate? add a few exclamation points, it will raise your voice in the poem!
...in sunken grave beds
and operas,
theater of mice,
while tumbled hair still grows !
Nice poem!!
Mark!
Hi Mark
Im glad you like the poem and yes I'm a half ass punctuator! I need to do better!! Thank you for your ever present support. Your vital to this site my friend!!!!!!!!!