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intercostal spaces & the contents of a ribcage
by Steven Kenworthy
Jesus Christ, you are tempting, but it is too early, but
too late for lullabies or pleasant thoughts
tonight i will test the steel and ride against the demons
so many ghosts preacher
the wind is sheets, you don't understand,
there are holes cut out for trying to destroy me
the entire town can watch me disappear under in
esrever or reverse, the fields of
periscopes from six feet south for consumption
are deep.
we decided we wish it was water.
aquatic revolvers. smoke
and i was supposed to be rising
the smell of my neighbor below the earth, &wonder,
was the poison the medicine?
can i shine the light down here?
on the situation & see the picture's frame
& see the veins? the model of the ground
appears
a blazing summerhome gone so wrong.
the journal is current waves of
nightmares of not learning anything from the arson.
cry yourself to safety from inside the flames child & get those portraits
the original image is facing firesquads
not the sun's
ultraviolence
blurred
hot would never step outside to be so
cool like the ocean
collecting shells add up the confidence
a day of rows to clear the fog
weatherman.
the rain has multiplied up to floods and everyone is ill
of this pneumonia setting in.
in dripping victory,
the seacoast storm keeps an eye on its prize,
center of the sea,go relax your muscles.
fight out of your quiet corner.
exhale your throat and don't feel too cold.
stick and move and bricks
the shelter will stand up strong in architecture we've found,
the unusual fool that did the old math has finally left the room
&
the bulbs are far too old to expose these dark zooms. retake retouch
pass it along, the paint is fresh
the brush
the white walls on the pictures are the xrays on the floor
reconstructor,
carpenter and tool can you build me something brand new?
layout,
do stretches,
empty yourself out starting with the ribcage.
there are many good things in here to show the people
science fair
take me away
dedicate me
to health lab
research and repair the cracks. i am not so tired yet.
05/22/2007 Author's Note:
soapy
emotionally decaying and coming back to life.
Posted on 05/23/2007
Copyright © 2024 Steven Kenworthy
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 05/23/07 at 03:58 AM Whew...I have my own interpretation of this... and it may be me but I take this as the wild ride between the sheets and all the weather that occurs therin ...through mind and body, churning like the sea, firey and powerful, life and death colliding , being saved and saving, the past and future inciting, exciting, and the heart pounding in intercostal spaces... is it me? is it you? is it us?? wonderful ride, S.K.whew...and you're not even tired! Let's start over again...from the beginning? (giggle) |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 05/23/07 at 10:32 AM Like Kathleen, I have my own interpretation of this wonderfully interesting intercostal exploration. "so many ghosts preacher" gave me the giggles. We have a Southern Baptist preacher as the service manager where I work whom I lovingly dubbed "the reverend". And that statement sounds just like some of the ways I pick at him. He's a good sport. He even took my poem, "Baptists bombed the Pentagon" with great humor and a solemn, "Somebody's got too much time on their hands" with a twinkle in his eyes. Thank you for this piece! It was fun. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 05/23/07 at 02:08 PM Ok, this is a wild way to start my day. I will return later and soak up more of this saturating storm of words!! |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/23/07 at 04:53 PM Thought provoking piece of writing, of which the title drew me right in. Lots to chew on here, and that's a good thing. :o) |
| Posted by Frankie Sanchez on 05/23/07 at 06:55 PM you are to me what fire was to cavemen. bright, hot, and intriguing; a discovery; a mystery; hard to contain, beautiful to witness; a challenge to previous perseptions of nature, language, and thought; dangerous; honest; warm; comforting; brilliant; burning passion; excitement; enthusiasm; -- this is until you will be defined later as a state, process, or instance of combustion in which fuel or other material is ignited and combined with oxygen, giving off light, heat, and flame... |
| Posted by Christina Bruno on 05/25/07 at 02:09 AM you're the king, weatherman |
| Posted by Ashley Lane on 06/22/07 at 04:33 AM This poem was exhausting, but in a good way...carrying me along from moment to image to an ending that feels both weary and defiant. This one is going in the favorites folder. |
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