Mr. Slim Goodbody, Only Real (Not Spandex)
by Shannon Adele
Standing above me
Doe eyes fixed on my collar bones
pulling the plastics of your shirt
Through impossibly small holes
Now youre skin
And Im so completely unsatisfied.
Starting with your neck, I begin to peel
your outer self into a puddle
on the bedroom floor.
I push my tongue through your
heart and double fist your lungs
creating such deliberate
piles of you.
My father always said
making mountains out of mow hills
And that makes me shudder.
I squeeze wine
from your liver and it flows
over your stomach. Your
real stomach, not the one
under shirts and over belts.
Your colon reflects
a prism of color onto the white
walls and thats funny.
But now all Im left with
is your sternum and all
of that cartilage that lives
between your ribs and just piles
and piles of your big brown bones.
Posted on 02/15/2007
Copyright © 2020 Shannon Adele
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Meghan Helmich on 12/04/08 at 06:45 PM|
i seem to have this bad final-stanza-summation disease, and it's refreshing to see someone with a strong poetic voice who can still end a poem with a bang without reminding me what the rest of the poem was about, all at once.
and 'your big brown bones' is just untouchable. also, the fourth stanza is sickening and real - it says "this is gore with a sweet smell." i guess that's really what the whole poem says.
|Posted by Jolie Jordan on 11/10/09 at 10:26 AM|
Gotta say, I'm really enjoying reading through your library.