[scraps] when writing on the subject of the sense of touch.
by Eli Skipp
i think there is a pain in my back, in an odd place, between the
shoulderblade but more, where everyone can feel that jolting spine
all sticking out but for me more so. more so, when i lie down i
feel it digging, and when i slouch against walls it catches like a
hook end, as if one would hang one's weight from it. and it never
cracks but it feels stuck and will never bend away and it never
twists but it feels bloated and hunchbacked like tortoise necks
falling out of shells.
and i haven't stopped being achy itchy restless really since i got
here oh no, sailor, i haven't stopped scratching under my jaw bone
barely been able to alleviate any or all and i'm all hives and
walking too quickly with great big broad busy street steps and i'm
all heelbones and hellos and hell-no's and that's another thing:
the resounding repeating rollicking reeling feeling that my bones
are liable to push their way through my slickened softened skin
any goll-darned moment they get the hankering to.
Posted on 02/03/2009
Copyright © 2022 Eli Skipp
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Jared Fladeland on 02/05/09 at 10:45 PM|
I like the tangible quality of this but using some really exaggerated cool description.
|Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 02/07/09 at 02:21 PM|
Your poems often seem like you're talking with somebody. In this one, I love especially your "oh no, sailor" ~ with its side-crawling, ahem ::: this to me is pure Elipoetry.