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Into The Middle of Things

by Johanna May

The poetry that moves me
inconveniences the banal coupling
of reason and aesthetic,
into the middle it adamantly arrives
premature of its birth.

Should it be given form,
its approximate might be some entity
as shocking as a nylon clad albino
seated on flowered chintz
sipping blood from dainty china.

Its voice a terrible grace,
and its silence
equal only to the quiet
of an inert bludgeon.


Posted on 01/07/2013
Copyright © 2023 Johanna May

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Joe Cramer on 01/07/13 at 04:16 PM

... exquisite... welcome to Pathetic.....

Posted by Timothy Burns on 01/07/13 at 07:55 PM

the last stanza put on its brass knucks and dusted me good. Please, don't ever stop writing!

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 01/13/13 at 12:26 AM

Loved that second stanza.

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