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Moths

by Max Bouillet

moths flail thick winged on the glass...
as sweat stenched pillows cradle matted hair
and dumb eyes.

crumpled sheets strewn about wet flesh
trap wayward limbs
and snag jagged nails.

but the moths...

flicker and flap
and whisper wicked taunts
and promise quick kisses
stolen from behind the
cracked mirror
where both my faces
bleed into
one

06/10/2003

Posted on 06/11/2003
Copyright © 2024 Max Bouillet

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Alastre Zidler on 06/11/03 at 04:56 PM

Very creative & unique imagery; I'm getting pictures of Kafka's 'metaphorphosis'. Lets the readers draw their own conclusions... it lingers...

Posted by Graeme Fielden on 06/12/03 at 04:00 PM

quite violent and frantic imagery - very effective...

Posted by Rommel Cruz on 06/14/03 at 01:59 PM

*gets the insecticide* =))

Posted by Kara Hayostek on 06/14/03 at 05:57 PM

Really nice imagery, I especially like the last few lines "where both my faces bleed into one" Very intriguing.

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 06/14/03 at 06:49 PM

I love poems that employ mirrors, and so I especially like the last stanza in this one.

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 07/23/03 at 02:17 AM

Bold imagery, the mindless beating of the moths wings against the glass comparable to the "two faces bleeding into one". Stale air, overly warm atmosphere, a room needing attention (cracked mirror), and a very confused person staring into a face he may not quite recognize. The whys and wherefores left to the imagination.

Posted by Amanda J Cobb on 07/25/03 at 07:56 PM

This imagery in this is very stirring, I can see the room so clearly...and it's really quite heart-wrenching, the poor soul at the cracked mirror "where both my faces bleed into one." That really is a wonderful line. Wonderfully written.

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