Thursday, June 16, 2011

stay, stay, stay

August 2003! A spree, and the W.A.P
another month of you and possibly me
W.A.P stands for wild animal park, if you don't remember-
the way you forgot to count the months till November.
When we shared a bed, in the blistering heat--
You ignored those new blisters all over my feet-
barking, tired from walking alone.
Choking, dehydrated, yet chilled to the bone-
my car overheating no insurance, registration
now I have to wait for the train at your station.

See, here...
there is a sea here
it's here every year
dear, it catches every tear
it drifts too far and little too near

it's sullen, and blue,
and it whispers "I do-"

and

"Hey, whatdya say...
Could ya Stay, Stay, Stay?
maybe we could make it for a day."

Maybe we could make it.
I guess in the mean time we'll just have to fake it.
Posted by at
Labels:

3 comments:

  1. Judith C EvansJune 17, 2011 at 8:32 AM

    As always, your descriptions place me in the middle of every scene. The energetic rhyming scheme in this poem accentuates every emotion. Love it!

    ReplyDelete
  2. bttrflyscarJune 17, 2011 at 9:35 AM

    Thanks Judith! :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. EllaJune 18, 2011 at 4:52 PM

    Yes, I feel tossed into a story, like a sloop on the sea wondering how it will all end~

    ReplyDelete

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Reach for the clouds. . .

Tickle your toes. . .

  • small stone #8
    Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
  • A girl in a shabby green coat, on a railway-station platform
    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...
  • full of coins
    hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
  • blade of grass
    Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
  • small stone #4
    husband and I trek a mile for ice cream just for the creamy banana, crunchy pecans, and chunks of thumb-sized chocolate. shoes flipping and...
  • small stone #7
    strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
  • cryk
    there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
  • in tact
    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...
  • strawberry
    July 12th My love's hands and eyes so full of surprise! he sees nothing wrong with giving me a synthetic strawberry.
  • Day 8
    The Opera The eyes of the firing-squad are aimed with lashed cross-hairs for now we, the chorus, all look like oiled up black ducks in a ro...

Poets United Contributor