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when they took your bed away

by Brynn Dizack

our aches grew like beans;
rampant--

three weeks barely
suspended
above the ground,
on a ship that won't hold air,,

our hips
ploughing long grooves
in the floor.

all sirens and
clouds
in the night-time,,

the bellbirds at your window,
our vile silences.
or these:
to tie, or, to take?

stand up,
come inside,,

our faux fucking, &
the rain in splinters outside.

perhaps nothing is not a re-telling.



08/07/2009

Posted on 08/07/2009
Copyright © 2022 Brynn Dizack

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Johnny Crimson on 11/23/09 at 12:27 PM

perhaps nothing is.. I'm very happy I discovered your work today. Needed it. Thanks.

Posted by Ava Blu on 01/23/11 at 09:08 PM

"our faux f.ucking, & the rain in splinters outside. perhaps nothing is not a re-telling." ^ yes

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