Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Weekend



Saturday was


Roses, heavy with sensual vanity,

The same red as the flush across her breasts, or your blush when she praised you.


It was


A delicious apple sliced with a good silver knife,

And the lazy knowledge of the white china bowl containing its seven sisters.


Sunday is


Cave flowers, grey as an old dusty book,

Falling apart like brittle pages of bad poetry best forgotten.


It is


Bone fruit so dry it shrivels the tongue,

So un-nourishing that each bite brings emptiness, starvation.


It is skull candy, dream-rot, sick-music.

It is all that's left.

____________________

9 comments:

  1. My God, this is . . . well, it just is. And, I adore it!

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  2. Thank you all for commenting, ladies.

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  3. skull candy
    dream rot
    fire blossom

    drifting on the wind of your words...

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  4. There is probably something twisted about writing something born of pain and then going, oh, good line! But i did, I liked that troika near the end. I should probably be taken out and shot. Please.

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  5. I admire this. The emotion is (and does come off as) real, and the expression thereof is not raw (not a direct 'tell'). Impressive wordplay and imagery. Cheers. (I hope you are doing better now, with peace.)

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  6. I have a habit of saying that Sundays are "polluted," but you say it so much better!

    bone fruit so day it shrivels the tongue...skull candy

    Right on.

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  7. oops, I meant to type so "dry" not day. ughh

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Spirit, what do you wish to tell us?