"this is how to kill a womb," you say
and cup in your palms fresh dew
until it screams.
smokestack hair stretches around the blossoming
of sky, slowly sucking fear
from cracks in the sea, from the lips
of the moon.
beneath my umbrella, I cannot warm
your peeling hands.
"the mud sleeps," - are you crying? or is it just
the city squirming in your eyes -
"and will not wake up."
Author notes
valor
"cat got fried"
[prompt: T is for Tears. another hippie poem.]
A contest entry
- Picture Prompts A - Z by Amaranthine Lover.
300 points, ended July 30, 24 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
critique:
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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Wow, this is an awesome piece! Love the imagery!
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Ah, why haven't I seen this before?!
Beautiful.
Ah, so beautiful. This is obviously a sign that the nonexistant god in the sky likes heretics best.
I'm glad you're back!
WE CAN GO TO THE WATER PARK NOW.
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I LOVE this! I love your form, and what you say, in simple words, that are woven expertly into a powerful poem! The only thing I'm iffy on is the alliteration in the second line, not sure the extra adjective is needed
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But, I thoroughly enjoyed this!!!!
Best of luck in the contest!!!!
Sailor Ptolema 
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i've read a whole bunch of your stuff tonight and have come to the conclusion that you are a fantastic writer. though, for this poem, "fresh" in the second line made me stumble. perhaps just "february dew"?
-cristina
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thanks for the advice! someone else mentioned that same phrase so I edited it.
& thanks for the undeserved flattery
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<
oh shit, thanks for the reminder. I swear this'll be written by tomorrow, if that's okay.
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