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Moths
by Max Bouilletmoths 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 © 2026 Max Bouillet
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Graeme Fielden on 06/12/03 at 04:00 PM quite violent and frantic imagery - very effective... |
| 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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