Tuesday, August 01, 2006

A Rude Interlude

Self-Indulgence, or
A Rude Interlude

I’m not going to succumb
to this sickly thing the suicidal
poet described - but she was right.
It is like a thousand bee stings
followed by a thousand searing
razor cuts winging every which way.
It is a naked walk through nettles
cold shivers climbing the spine
Another stab, another convulsion
alternating freezing, scalding rods
spiking along the veins. I inhale
each breath as never before –
a combatant tool in this war.



Gyula said...

....and the HUMAN people's deep silence all over this dirty world....just the poets....

Great thoughts in a mad age....

CoralPoetry said...


Thank you for your kind comments and clicks. Yes, silence speaks volumes. It speaks whole libraries of unspeakable things. Only the intrepid poets dare to go there, probably because they are equipped from birth so to do.

Kind regards,