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Stylostixis
by Rob LittlerI’m feeling the agony again
when my hair stands on end
and tiny darts penetrate
my dermis
twisting between the fingers
of a quiet woman
who knows my pituitary is sizzling.
She screams the Fire Sermon
with her eyes
taking about Big Macs
and a debt so huge
her grandfather
would put a knife in his gut
if only he
could rise from death
to do the stabbing
By the window sits a book shelf
and fragrance-sticks that burn.
I’ve watched the ember glowing
feeling the release of aroma
while I’m stuck with her needles
of surrender.
She has stories about China Town
nightmares even worse than home-—
she curls her lips when she says:
“America is lie”
She doesn’t do laundry
like she’s supposed to;
she spits fever and cries nails
for her political refuge.
Burying my face in her pillow
my brow deep with sweat
I roll over
in my towel
to write this
poem.
02/10/2012 Posted on 02/10/2012
Copyright © 2024 Rob Littler
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 02/10/12 at 09:36 PM There's a lot of really great lines in here. Some real punch behind these images. |
| Posted by Jody Pratt on 02/11/12 at 05:32 PM I love this whole emotional piece, especially the ending. For two reasons; it connects the audience to your poem, and also I wrote something similar one time and thought it was pretty clever haha. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/11/12 at 03:27 PM I agree with Gabriel. I especially like the part about debt...the grandfather, and these two lines: She has stories about China Town
nightmares even worse than home-—Good close off also. |
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