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Karma Suture

by Laura Doom

In dislocation's haste
I discover myself
mislaid in the enduring struggle
to justify continued existence
once mania has frozen me under.

~

Sunrise spreads itself thinly
across this slice of misfortune,
a mistress of disguise
draped in slurs of androgyny,
spawning polymorphic issue
to claim the legacy
of a soulless system in collapse.

Her head twitches
on a block of lost friends.
She simulates a stoic shiver,
impatient for sun to scorch sorrow
into the compliant tracks
of a blank new day.

~

A world without the world within;
dogwood blushes blur
the pigments of imagination;
red admirals chase painted ladies
for tasteless dregs
through backwoods underdressed,
the sickly stench of burning beds
masked by reminiscence
in drifts of frosted fuchsia.

Hybrid helicopters hover,
their rotors slice the fabric of sanity,
slits and cracks and jagged sky
that plough my field of division.
Voices shatter to rainbows,
their bloody hues screaming clarity
while pounding dots are joined
by foetal lines of fire;
the grapes of wrath fester
unfit for public consumption.

All is confectionery
processed by circumcised scribes
for the edification of masters
shrink-wrapped in doctrine
and marketed by leashed bitches
all barking from the same manual.
She sees their lips move
and it gives her that synching feeling.

As sure as drama follows crisis
the time for tears rolls in;
but her eyes snap shut
and blood refuses to circulate
the rumour of life
through another cold day in hell.

~

I am touched by your respect,
feel you drink my personality
like it was liquid Lebanese,
hear you espouse my principles
with mechanical allegiance;
but please, is it too much
to ask of you to please yourself?
To be my knight of nights?
To love me for my body
and leave my mind in peace
to wander the grey mile
with my imaginary grim daemon.

11/18/2006

Posted on 11/18/2006
Copyright © 2020 Laura Doom

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Richard Vince on 11/18/06 at 07:08 PM

worth waiting for, as ever. "She sees their lips move / and it gives her that synching feeling" - a classic line.

Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 11/20/06 at 02:40 PM

Now, this is the kind of work I haven't seen nearly enough of, since heading back this way.

Posted by Rachelle Howe on 11/21/06 at 04:47 AM

"All this is confectionery processed by circumsised scribes for the edification of the masters shrink wrapped in doctrine and marketed by leashed bitches all barking from the same manual. She sees their lips move and it gives her that synching feeling." I mean. Discourse never was so digestable.

Posted by E. A. Pugh on 11/21/11 at 05:22 PM

leave my mind in peace to wander the grey mile with the grim daemon.

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