you don’t remember
slicking the switchblade
from your back left pocket
to open your mail
or giving glacial eyes
to curves shrinking deep
into the bottomless sofa under
the loft bed in your dorm room
or slithering your six-foot-six
bulk to bed the deadbolt
locked—five hundred miles
across the room
you don’t relive it
then speed to scrape
the scabs away again
how the tears and tears vanished
on the way to “the caf”
with a diet coke and camel light
until the urine burned—
consciousness biting
now almost able to
reminisce the days before
that sofa
that ladder
that loft
those hands
snake-ing across thighs.
now keeping a head above water
until opaque bronze
mingles with
steaming
bath
water.
Author notes
this piece is an ongoing edit - so if it doesn't work with the contest please let me know. thanks!
A contest entry
- Unheard Voices by Dead Star--x.
1050 points, ended December 11, 2007, 9 entries
Honorable winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
it works with the contest i like your imagery and your description of it
ive not reead something like this before but i really like it
thanx for entering & good luck
Dead Star--x
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