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Morning is for the Living

by Laura Doom

After death, the post mortem
fairy wraps her fanciful dactyls
around my ankles and yanks me
from never netherland
to the mythic empirical dream.

I land unceremoniously
on a monosyllabic floor
that contradicts itself
whenever tragedy strikes,
however hard the fall.

This room is unnaturally bleak:
there's a mountain of clothing
just out of reach, a vapid cloud
between my teeth, a trickle
of blood running hot and sweet.

As a concept, action signifies
an attractive proposition, a bed
in which abstinence grows weary
and wilts beneath the nascent fire
inherent in my waking thoughts.

In practice, I slither further toward the predictable
unknown, roll myself into a collaborative scripture,
breathe the ambiguity of abject expression
to complement the sapid smile defining my day.
I put my fingers to those lips and delight in the darkness.

03/08/2016

Posted on 03/08/2016
Copyright © 2020 Laura Doom

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Anita Mac on 03/11/16 at 02:07 AM

Your way with words leaves me breathless as ever. After the bleak humor of the rest of the poem, I found the last stanza seductively enchanting.

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/11/16 at 03:59 PM

"a monosyllabic floor that contradicts itself whenever tragedy strikes," - love this. and "predictable unknown", and who wouldn't want to catch a glimpse of a "post mortem fairy". Thanks for this.

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 03/14/16 at 01:00 AM

Beautiful piece of writing by a skilled wordsmith. Kudos and thanks for sharing this.

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