Shive of sliver
snapped necks like brass knobs
molten and hot against the furnace
door
longing
oxygen from their hearth
the sickening
a change I lose in iris
a confusion mounts its trophy case
and whistles through ebon
pulsing and overtaken
slits of skin,
lips littering like scales
the lonely floor
finally finding its other half.
ashen
she, he, no it
whispers like a chalk board under still nail beds
"Cracked.."
The head lulls, like it lost its mind,
a tip to its side
then rolls
across the lovers
and past the loners
whistling
"Cracked."
Author notes
My interpretation suited it of the gone, for contest.
A contest entry
- just enter. by Trinsa.
420 points, ended June 7, 2008, 25 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What do you think?
Comments
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"she, he, no it
whispers like a chalk board under still nail beds
"Cracked..""
GrEAT piece! It was short for one of your wrks so i was surprised, but its very good
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Wonderment
This makes me think. What irony. I just... did something that this poem reminds me of. Revelating... such a good work. I am oh so JEALOUS.
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beautiful just beautiful .....i miss your poems and i miss talking to you i will try to talk to you soon.
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