I am smoldering in your coals, but I don't aim to be re-lit.
He is the vulture, standing over my corpse, picking me with his beak.
The heroine, not dressed in heels, or ready for her role, gnashes them.
Revolution takes wings, balls, hands- climb up the flagpole, rip custom down.
Scotch on his breath, he remembers, laughs at his ugly workday.
This cubicle reeks of burned popcorn, lunch not supposed to be blackened.
Baby blue dress, pantyline showing, I stand in front of the class, aware.
10 comments:
Holly love this poem good title too!
Seven vantages upon a star spangled omphalos.
The first and last ones are my favourites, good selection
Thank you all. Brendan, thank you for visiting!
Holly these are so so good. I especially love the fourth and last ones.
Thanks Nathan...I have fun with these! They happen very quickly for me. It's strange.
I love this, Holly! Each sentence forms a complete story in my mind, yet they could all be the same. I also love the fourth and last lines.
I remember that stink... Was that popcorn?
This poem is a wonder holly,
so unique and beautifully surreal.
thank you for commenting Julie, Anna and Cynthia!
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