by Laura Doom
of a crowd at a hanging
that serves to demoralize
between two points
that dissembles my wish to know you
not that you give a fuck anyway
of many that will not last
I owe you
in the media
whose suddy moys dismardled me
from certain hypnoloppity
in my stomach
when my tongue is tied
reduced me to tears
who loved me more
than she could say
in my stomach
when my tongue is loose
to confound the oppressor
that invariably answers mine
nature of this statement
sound of onomatopoeia
bit that is somewhere
near the bottom
face of my retro alarm clock
suggestion of hyperbole
that generates poverty
that resembles your former value
The Yorkshire Pudding
my mother made in prison
playing scrabble (0)
that led to the absence
Edited 28-02-14 [UK date format]
Posted on 01/22/2012
Copyright © 2017 Laura Doom
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Alison McKenzie on 01/22/12 at 06:26 PM|
I started to quote my favorite lines, but I soon realized I was quoting almost all of it, so I erased, and said this instead. OMG. You and your words ROCK!!!
|Posted by Shannon McEwen on 01/22/12 at 08:30 PM|
I had the same problem as Alison I couldnt pick just one line I loved the best, really like this as a whole.
|Posted by Mo Couts on 01/23/12 at 05:21 PM|
This is so intelligently written and well done. I, too, like the others, couldn't pick a favorite portion; just a gem overall!
|Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/24/12 at 12:07 AM|
Brilliant. You make it look easy.
|Posted by Ulyss Rubey on 01/28/12 at 02:53 AM|
I laughed a lot, but guardedly, so no one could see me if I missed the point.
|Posted by Rachelle Howe on 01/28/12 at 07:40 PM|
One of the hardest forms to rock out effectively and you do it in spades!