Dust Devil Pitch
buttersidown
Posts: 7
I am the bride
on the funeral pyre
wailing and carrying
though I held the knife
that went into my dear dying
husband's blind eye.
And the townsmen all leer
at the tear in my sheer
at the gash in my cheek
i got being thrown in the slammer
when my face hit the padlock
that still swings on the hook.
Yes, I am the bride
binge-purging my love
for an ominous man
who comes like a ghost
to my bed everynight
and haunts my happiness
with laughing delight.
And in dreams my fist hits his face like a stop light ignored.
And he smiles, grabbing my ass, calling me petnames, making small
petty
dust devils pitch
fits that mean absolutely nothing
no how
to no one.
I can do naught but spin and spit.
(The rings on this carousel ride
are but hammer handles.)
I hold my hands wide
keeping centripital forces
from forcing me into tornado swirl.
And I CRY, oh my dear God how I cry.
It's supposed to be dead
so go on, love... die.
on the funeral pyre
wailing and carrying
though I held the knife
that went into my dear dying
husband's blind eye.
And the townsmen all leer
at the tear in my sheer
at the gash in my cheek
i got being thrown in the slammer
when my face hit the padlock
that still swings on the hook.
Yes, I am the bride
binge-purging my love
for an ominous man
who comes like a ghost
to my bed everynight
and haunts my happiness
with laughing delight.
And in dreams my fist hits his face like a stop light ignored.
And he smiles, grabbing my ass, calling me petnames, making small
petty
dust devils pitch
fits that mean absolutely nothing
no how
to no one.
I can do naught but spin and spit.
(The rings on this carousel ride
are but hammer handles.)
I hold my hands wide
keeping centripital forces
from forcing me into tornado swirl.
And I CRY, oh my dear God how I cry.
It's supposed to be dead
so go on, love... die.
Post edited by Unknown User on
0
Comments
(Kamala Das, feminist, poet)
Great poem here.
who, praytell designed this shit?
thanks finsburypark
Hats off to you, buttersidown!
And Fins, you are a tree of knowledge
"There was only the kitchen table where I would cut vegetables, and after all the plates and things were cleared, I would sit there and start typing" - Kamala Das
If it were not for beautiful lights such as you, B.E., I really wouldn't bother.
http://maven.english.hawaii.edu/criticalink/aristotle/terms/anagnorisis.html
however
i have smaller fish to fry
thank you nailz, your wishes mean much to me