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dressed to the nines
by Lauren Singerin a sleepy-eyed stupor
i stand at the foot of your
four-poster bed and slit your pillows
with my pocket knife.
drenched in nightmare's sweat,
i know that you are never coming home.
there is no need to remember how you smelled,
or the way your fingers plumped out, yellowed
at the tips or how your mouth formed
compound words with a voice that paused at odd places.
should i play the fool,
you would find me contaur drawing
your facial features into my skin or
calling your mother crying.
but hatred
is thicker.
it is heavier.
i wear it as a suit
to smother the listlessness of my shambles.
and in my breast pocket,
the feathers.
the barren, steadfast textile
resting comfortably
while i straighten my cufflinks
and grit my teeth. 06/28/2010 Posted on 06/28/2010
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Therese Elaine on 06/28/10 at 05:57 PM Sharp-dressed to hide shocking impulses, the neatness of appearance in direct opposition to the carnage of the mind, houndstooth concealing shark's teeth smile...no one will ever see it coming. |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 06/29/10 at 12:36 AM I don't think anyone commits muder 'dressed to the nines'. But then ......
Nice write lady. |
| Posted by Ken Harnisch on 06/29/10 at 04:10 PM and actually, i can see you dressed to the nines in this nightmare...it seems to perfectly fit the dark images, Lauren |
| Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 06/29/10 at 04:25 PM quite the scene! it feels like it could be the introduction to a much longer story. |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 06/30/10 at 12:12 AM ...lauren, like all say but esp. morgan, Scene...i can see you, the patbos, and that grit, and heavy hatred[in the way you mean...a lover's hatred---"damn you!,DAMN YOU!!!" put on that coat girl! |
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