10-18-2010, 03:28 AM
(10-18-2010, 02:35 AM)Todd Wrote: It is this dyslexic language I hate
words that scurry and slink
rearrange themselves before
I can speak.
But somebody killed something,
or something-or-other!
I stand by my story.
No lucid dream
to wake from, I tire
of these suggestions.
So childish to fear the dark
night’s plunge into anonymity.
It is the eyes that draw
the Bandersnatch--
claws that scrape,
claws that catch.
You have removed my vanity—
the need to mince gingerly.
I no longer sit to brush my hair,
nor eat without the ache
within my bones.
This glass isn’t cold as you suspect,
the fire leaks like a warm breath.
I feel the grin float
over my shoulder, the last beacon
to fade away.
Todd, you are a great poet! I've read some of your other poems and wow! I really liked this one especially. Good work!