Wordle #67

Your silent cantillations foam

At the gorge between your lips.

Body a rocking horse

Broken across the saddle.

Fistulas rendezvous

In your purloined heart.

Grief is hideous

Underneath your skin.

–

I enter the bazaar,

Inching my way

Across the diameter

Grappling my way

Through your foreboding.

Wracked and loaded with pain,

The shadow beneath you

Comes off in flakes

As if it too were incinerated.

No one hurts as fiercely as you do.

–

I shift the junk

In my pocket book

Passing out tissues to all

Who will take them.

Your dwindling eyes spilling

Fruitlessly over the asphalt

There is nothing here, no one

To haul away your sadness

And I am a pitiful excuse.

–

For

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2015/06/29/wordle-67-june-29-2015/

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Circus

OrmHuz@Deviant Art

The pauses in our conversations,

Unraveled, could circumnavigate

The globe again and again

As if a needle in a groove

So oft revisited that it stutters.

We’ve grown apart

But the stitches do not give

A hem of scars like a constellation

Of indistinct faces.

 

The silence is extravagant

Like the howl of a coyote

A stigmata wrapped in eyelashes

A dusty jewel, cold as a corpse’s tears

The betrayal of your footsteps

As you pass from my boundaries

And cross illicitly into hers.

 

Your fingers reflect

Against my flesh

Like blades of lightening

There is no reverence

In their application.

My womb is full of splinters

Of your wooden sperm

Delivered at intervals

And from a distance

Not reflected

By our mixed filaments.

 

I trace your smiling mouth

And wonder if the picture

Was taken upside down

By mistake

Because I don’t remember

Your lips ever reaching

That altitude.

 

Our misery has a longevity

Worthy of distinction

So long has she prowled

Flanked by our bones

And incessant for want

Of tenderness

We no longer exist

Without her

We are the exception

Not she,

She is the tigress, the star

Of this unmanned circus

*

I have been doing a lot rewrites lately and that is largely because I am hard at work on my second book “The Necessity of Flowers”. Like my first book I am aiming for 100 poems. Right now I have 81 poems (there are more than enough poems on my blog of course but there is so much on my blog that it takes a while to sort). Melanie is away (for happy reasons) so I am not sure if I will have to find another editor.

Venus vs. Mars

Art By: the-surreal-arts

Her pitiless eyes

Hang from the ceiling

Like exposed light bulbs

Pendulous and accusatory

I plead simplicity

Scarifying palatable alibis

With my inconsonant grin

*

She poses in silence

Features tarnished and angular

I wrap my knuckles

Metaphorically against her chest

The wind howls contemptuously

From betwixt iron-plated ribs

*

Her ellipse is vulturine

Folded arms poetizing assault

If only her fists fell instead

Then I could wrap my arms

Around her tremulous form

And restore this wicked flame

To its rightful red

*

Some days I have trouble finding my muse and today was one of those days!