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Wagers of the Dead
by Max BouilletShe slips between the sheets
of the dead.
Hung with the draperies
of mansions in disrepair
she carries the moon
on a silver curtain rod,
opening herself when the
sun trips over
the horizon and
falls into her lap.
Pale breasts and red lips
give the illusion of pink flesh
when shes shaken hard enough
and her face blurs
into the background
of carved mahogany
and old canvas.
Warm breath on a
cold night intoxicates
the demons in angry men
who wager her like
ancient currency
in games of chance;
and though divine writ
states souls cannot be bought,
they most surely may be won
and lost.
11/29/2005 Posted on 11/29/2005
Copyright © 2024 Max Bouillet
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Graeme Fielden on 12/01/05 at 02:17 AM a wonderfully dark, fairy-tale, half-dream like quality about this one, Max. Challenging yet entertaining. A great write! |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 12/02/05 at 08:01 PM Death as depersonalisation? I don't know - except to say that this is brilliant Max, disturbingly alive... |
| Posted by Michele Schottelkorb on 12/03/05 at 09:50 PM "and though divine writ
states souls cannot be bought,
they most surely may be won
and lost."... this is so very poignant... i love the rich gothick feeling of this piece... that leaves me feeling haunted... blessings... |
| Posted by Rula Shin on 12/06/05 at 04:02 AM Most definitly haunting, with a quality of subtle heaviness, almost like a heavy lingering sigh of sadness or loneliness as she hangs there "between the sheets of the dead," this place which is not like life and not like death. The ending is most powerful, the lingering soul a projection of our own, hanging in the balance, subject to our wagers...what risks we take with our most precious tender. The price is much higher than we realize. That's what I saw. This is so well written, absolutlely wonderful. |
| Posted by Mara Meade on 12/09/05 at 12:47 AM Very visceral, to me. I may have taken it too personally for honest commentation.... whch is the beauty, I suppose, of your poetry and of you as a writer. Incredible, Max. |
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