on a park bench along manchester ave, I
dry heaved over the tired skin of a lover's
breath, tore from edges to pile against
the non-conforming branches of a word.
stark visages compiled wholes by the write
on barstools angels play the tune of Sodom
now swore to the pleasure-fest of eternity's collapse
I digressed, by the tonic of sylvia's blade.
winter's blowing, the seasonal whore goddess is bending
lips spread, thighs wide demanding a fevered plunge of
thought upon thought, spewed from the ethers of a promised
regret we all face, when the page is defiled.
today my desk is over-run by the shards of servitude, blank
heart and mind delivering to the continuum of
a poet's vise, who and why leaning precariously close to
the belief eyes are watching, enthralled.
yet the pretense shudders, ink drains the vessel, down
isles worms gather to forage the root, I
reverberate with the voice of old ghosts, the ones
compelling dissension amongst the ranks, of gods.
Author notes
rough draft.
In a list
Comments
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To know ourselves
to go so deep and bring to the service...
most are afraid of what they find
profound
written through the soul of a true Poet
exquisite
God bless you my friend...
*
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wow this is so moving!
I love this and it is such powerful write
love and blessings
Rend
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“winter's blowing, the seasonal whore goddess is bending
lips spread, thighs wide demanding a fevered plunge of
thought upon thought, spewed from the ethers of a promised
regret we all face, when the page is defiled.
my desk is over-run by the shards of servitude, blank
heart and mind delivering the continuum of
a poet's vise, who and why lean precariously close to
the belief eyes are watching, enthralled.”
Everytime I read this. I am so drawn to these two stanzas.
They touch something in me and bring to mind so many thoughts.
There are touches of the victim-redeemer, the need of and lack of...belief.
The constant internal struggle we all have in finding the creative process within us. By creative I don’t necessarily mean poetry either. I mean the parts of us that really need something. That intangible something. A form of creative healing one could call it.
Then of course you top it off by writing this in your unique Rob style which makes it all the more powerful.
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This is dark and painful yet I still found it captivating with wonderful original imagery. Bravo!
Love,
Amera
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