I'm thinking
Of my orange-peel fingers
A mess of fruit-skin
Piling high and jagged and torn artistically,
Because I know she would have done this
Without smiling,
Thin English lips set tight and straight
As a closed pickle jar.
Her shallow, flapping paper mouth
Spews words beside me
Like a bizarre fountain,
Spreading them across the unholy table
Where they glint maliciously--
Only for her--
A detested formality.
I nod and yeah my way through the motions
Of this one-person conversation
And I dream for the both of us.
A contest entry
- Shape of Impact by Gossamer Guile.
900 points, ended December 20, 2007, 25 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
I know it's weird, bear with me here.
Comments
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Not weird. Abstract. I love the images used here. Though unique, they add power to the words. Thank you for sharing the bizzareness of reality. Well done.
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a good piece, yeah sometimes some people do go on with their rabbiting, thank god we have dreams to slip into
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