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Post-war Sacrifice/Redemption Through Cancellation of Debt(ors)

by Therese Elaine

And so I stand on this deserted street;
all the broken promises
(bled, burned, beaten out)
lie abandoned;
their plaster-of-paris
fragility
shattered to reveal the hollowness inside...


the dead have no need to breathe



My fingers dig into fetid jaws -
you have nothing to barter anymore;
You cannot fuck yourself warm
in my good intentions -
all the parts of me you used as stop-gaps
against your leaking insufficiency,
are being reclaimed...


it's time you learned to sink or swim.



This is vengeance,
this is vengeance
against the dual insult of
the illiteracy of your tongue and
the instability of your touch;

This is survival,
this is survival,
a wedding
of war-wound compilations
and gallow's humour billet-doux.



My fingers dig into febrile skin -
you are nothing but the substance of negligence;
You cannot make love to yourself
through the mirror of my eyes -
there is not enough of you to hide your monsters
and too much of me to deny my own,
so I just let them all overtake you...



you're just another part of the purge.


This is death,
this is death,
a single moment of peace after
the redundancy of killing blows
and remittance of carnal impulses;

This is birth,
this is birth,
a lifetime of pain after
clawing exit strategies
and shock-treatment slaps.



I cannot dig deep
enough -
it's time I left
this for the
carrion;
they can have
the meat, I'll
take the
marrow.
I'll write my
Dear John
in scrimshaw on
your bones
before I
swallow the
match that lit
the lamp that
I kept burning
long after the
windows were
boarded up...

It's nothing personal, I just hate how cowardice tastes.


This is rebirth,
this is rebirth,
ambivalence born of restless ghosts
and Turkish Delight smiles.



And so I'm leaving this deserted street;
these promises aren't worth
the paper they're printed on...
cold-iron IOU's have always stood me in
better stead,
and contrary to popular belief,
I was never open to interpretation-
no matter how I opened for you...

I've gotten good at battlefield amputation



This is birth/death/rebirth
This was everything that counted
This is nothing that matters


You pays your money, you takes your chances

06/23/2010

Author's Note: Bye, bye, blackbird...

Posted on 06/24/2010
Copyright © 2020 Therese Elaine

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Charlie Morgan on 06/24/10 at 02:44 PM

...therese, and all of this happened on a deserted street?...this left me punch-drunk, a good thing with what all you covered, and ne'r once did you leave the deserted street...loved it. the growth, transitions[ing], the ambulances were busy burying all my dead loves and yours too, eh?

Posted by Tom Goss on 06/24/10 at 05:16 PM

Sweet notes of brutaliciousness, flung high in the air by a symphony of emotional canon shots. Lovely, unique, smoldering, and precisely on target (deftly striking the bullseye of the heart).

Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 06/24/10 at 07:28 PM

Wild, vaguely psychotic and a hell of a lot of fun moving through from start to finish. Well done indeed.

Posted by Linda Fuller on 06/25/10 at 12:39 AM

just...wow

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 06/25/10 at 12:07 PM

Therese, you've sowed an incredible amount of art here for our eyes to reap and this is what mine reap - that love is not a fair bartering tool as it concerns two people who would exchange the product of such love. That there is always the one or the other of the parties involved who is getting the better bargain in the deal and the other getting the shaft, in this case, parting is not seeming to sound like such sweet sorrow but a very smarting affair come time for its severance.

Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 06/26/10 at 01:22 AM

this dropped my jaw. damn.

Posted by Glenn Currier on 06/26/10 at 04:51 PM

You repeat the life cycle, its angst, its losses, its light... no pretending here that all is well. But underneath someone who takes the marrow. Brilliant.

Posted by Johnny Crimson on 06/26/10 at 05:49 PM

Kill em' all. I like your process of elimination, as long as there's one cowboy left standing dear. ****

Posted by Paul Lastovica on 06/27/10 at 02:22 AM

from a visual standpoint, i like how my eye jumps from bold to italic, small print to large - my mind at odds with the words. It's the kind of thing you read and wonder "where did THAT come from!?" unsure of what just happened, but thrilled all the same.

Posted by Stephan Anstey on 06/27/10 at 05:01 AM

Nicely done.

Posted by Eli Skipp on 06/27/10 at 04:49 PM

I do really enjoy this poem, however, I have to postulate that rather, you cannot $#%@ yourself chilly.

Posted by Rowan Luis on 06/27/10 at 08:02 PM

i hate how cowardice tastes. yes. and you are nothing but the substance of negligence; and there is not enough of you to hide your monsters this sounds like things that fly around in my head like bats in the dark

Posted by Alison McKenzie on 06/27/10 at 09:41 PM

Geeezles. I just have to say, are we living the same life? Holy cow!!!

Posted by Nadia Gilbert Kent on 06/28/10 at 03:48 AM

If I asked the waiter for a poignant "BAM" poem, I'm pretty sure this is what he'd come back with. A very cathartic read.

Posted by Joan Serratelli on 06/29/10 at 09:49 PM

This piece is exceptional in every way. The repetation, the word usage- a masterpiece in every sense of the word- thank you!

Posted by Max Bouillet on 06/30/10 at 02:36 AM

Rebirth in the charnel grounds. It is a bloody affair to reclaim the pieces of your heart kept hostage in the clutches of a shallow soul. To rebuild you must demolish the current structure. Bloody good poem with meat.

Posted by Maria Terezia Ferencz on 06/30/10 at 08:15 AM

If Ebenezer were a poet this is what he'd write. And I love it!

Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 07/11/10 at 05:35 PM

you slay me.

"there is not enough of you to hide your monsters
and too much of me to deny my own,
so I just let them all overtake you...

and that awesome swing of the axe "

Posted by Laura Doom on 07/18/10 at 11:41 PM

Well, I'm pleased, but not surprised, to know you don't do the custard and caramel conversation piece :>

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