Delayed Response
You may write me a requiem.
You may sing me a song.
You may write me a poem.
You may send my parents flowers.
You may announce you always loved me.
You may sculpt a statue.
You may send my husband a card.
You may write my sister a letter.
But until you can see
the reality of you and me
Please,
Do not come to my funeral.
Partly Human
They were once the only human.
The person we knew and loved
is now broken bits of speech
and half-machinery.
Partly synthetic.
Fuzzy receptions.
They are partly edible
and have had morsels eaten from them.
Revealing the bite marks.
They have lost their totality
they have been stripped and peeled.
They have changed
They have changed
They have changed
They have changed
They have changed
They are different.
They are different.
They are different.
They are different.
Partly.
But we
press on, in love with the
undying retentions.
The pieces we identify with
the skin.
The teeth.
The bone.
And that reaction, why,
That is also
Partly Human.
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Tickle your toes. . .
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driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu... -
like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
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motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
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Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
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nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
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Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
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and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
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confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
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sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
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it's not possible. I think the problem must be- too much love and hate.
Poets United Contributor
Not sure what you're meaning by the first one but "But until you can see
ReplyDeletethe reality of you and me
Please,
Do not come to my funeral" is really powerful for me...
I am with you there, sister. lol.
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