romance their mummy women
down where the rain jar juju taxi waits...
Sitting on an ice stool,
the cat-hearted dharma hustler
deals out the Rimbaud, the strawberry, the one-eye...
Kiss the ghost for me,
I'll miss you, but
the empty hangers sounded just like church bells at my back
early this morning,
when the stairwell slipped its skin and called my name.
______
I'm suddenly really glad I live in a house with no stairs. Every line in this cooks like a witch's cauldron.
ReplyDeletei love the way this builds to the last line with mummy girls, juju taxis and kissing the ghost. {she says, not the least bit envious!} {sigh} ♥
ReplyDeleteThat last line got me.
ReplyDeleteactually it is the empty hanger and the stairwell calling the name that speak to me the most...kinda painful...
ReplyDeleteThe last three lines blew me away, Shay.
ReplyDeleteShay, your poems always blow me away, and this one even more so. Wow. That last stanza especially is stunning.
ReplyDeleteFascinating! What comes first? The title or the poem ...
ReplyDeleteThis has got the wicked going on!
ReplyDeletethis is a great one, Shay
ReplyDeleteAloha from Waikiki;
Comfort Spiral
> < } } ( ° >
><}}(°>
eerie how you described so well the feeling one gets from the Hudson sisters without mentioning them... bravo!
ReplyDeletethis one was kind of eery, especially the empty hangers. something wicked this way comes...
ReplyDelete