'short of stable' by Erin Werlei.
this place is not my place -
these walls of smooth white-washed oblivion,
walls of sanity, reflections of grace
drive me back to the brink of delerium.
this place is a place of those nothings;
mind you, not the comfortable nothings I knew.
this place is the nothing of dead-eyes and dreams
this place is everything I'd fought for you.
sway to the side to the beat of a drum
move your head with the whims of a snake -
serpentine kisses and sanguine addictions;
remnants of bittersweet ophelian tears
[fears]
ii.
poetry, the Muse!
herald of dreamers -
a visionary stumbles past
porcelain gods
false worship to idols spun thick from the sands -
shattering fast
when the fall from my grasp.
glistening shards of the anasthesia -
opiate -
everything--nothing
the heart of my tongue.
droplets of bitter, sharp saline yesterdays,
tainted with trickles of Cuervo,
and gold.
iii.
these ways are not mine -
they are capitalist daydreams:
facades to beat down on my soul/heart
--my hands.
these kisses of Marx dance with
Muse borne of song -
and these poems are raising suspicions
again.
androdgynous dialectics of historical games -
blame the future
the fodder
for all my mistakes.
i am my own atrablious prose.
09/30/2003 Author's Note: still debating whether or not I am fond of this - the outcome (as always): erratic.
Posted on 09/30/2003 Copyright © 2024 Erin Werle
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