Body Of Work

I’m well aware that they are laying poems
out on slabs these days – dissecting them –
dropping their heart, their mind, their guts
into little dishes and putting their cells under
a microscope. They scrape under fingernails
for evidence and chart wounds, both long since
sustained and newly acquired, on a diagram for
future reference. They drain their blood and
pump them full of something they say will
preserve them, something as insanely unnatural
as the exercise itself, only to then abandon
them, alone, in the long dark night
as if they never existed.

My poems do not wish to be undressed
and undone, poked and prodded, severed
or sliced, only to be forgotten at the turning
of a page. They want to fly, burn, breath, rage
and urge from you the conversation we would
not otherwise have had. They want your
instinct, your humanity - understanding –
and not the scalpel or the thin white gloves
that keep us from actually touching. So, if I
say the horse was just a horse, that the colors
were randomly chosen or that I hung a moon
in the middle of a poem for no particular
reason at all, just let me have that –

but don’t believe me.


User Rating: 5,0 / 5 ( 4 votes ) 7

Comments (7)

A refined poetic imagination, Christine Austin Cole. You may like to read my poem, Love And Lust. Thank you.
a very sweet and meaningful write..thanks fro sharing..its a good one..well done
compact beautiful composition! Nice words used....10+++
I’ve changed my minuses to plusses I’m into the glass mirror; as reality of reflection I believe in purple unicorns and translucent humans So what I hear in rhyme; at least musical to touch Is all that I believe Poems are not the brazen nudity of math They are the coloring, coverings, cravings of mind, heart and soul They need no alphanumeric monstrosity for the gazette They live as abstract moments of abject grief or leaping happiness [One way traffic doesn’t connote a point of no return]
This is remarkable....wonderful composition that flows like a river of depth and understanding......words of the heart become etched with what fine poets such as yourself leave for the world to read and feel.......lovely work 10++
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