Post by Aish on Jul 20, 2014 15:28:51 GMT -5
V.2
My Sunday morning begins at noon;
a good stretch and groan
collar bone, sternum, and shoulder
popping like bubble wrap beneath
the feet of a child.
There's a momentary sparkle
resembling static electricity
in a darkened room.
The serpentcat inside
wakes up and purrs for coffee,
ready to writhe
take a roll in the grass
and
blood. Trickles down
changes my landscape
to fissured porcelain.
There is no blooming
like the would be wordsmiths
want you to believe,
there is not a polite euphemism
or lovely transformation:
this is a goddamned running river
painting estuaries down my legs
and wounding the kitchen floor.
With nerves snapping
like dry twigs caught in wildfire
all my lines are roughed up,
fat leeches push Rorschach tests
through my cervix,
assaulted womb twisting in the fist
of angry exodus.
Yerushalayim is on fire,
enemies at the gate:
Iron Dome shoots death rockets
out of the sky again and again
and again.
My mood understands.
Menopause might be a blessing.
-------------------------------------------------
V.1
My Sunday morning begins at noon
good stretch and grrrmoan collar bone sternum shoulder
popping like bubble wrap beneath the feet of a child
there's a momentary sparkle
resembling static electricity in a darkened room.
The serpentcat inside me wakes up
purrs for coffee
ready to writhe
take a roll in the grass and
blood. Trickles down
changes my landscape to fissured porcelain
there is no blooming like the would be wordsmiths
want you to believe
there is not a polite euphemism or lovely transformation
this is a goddamned running river
painting estuaries down my legs and
wounding the kitchen floor.
Nerves snapping like dry twigs caught in wildfire
all my lines are roughed up
fat leeches push Rorschach tests through my cervix
assaulted womb twisting in the fist
of angry exodus.
Yerushalayim is on fire,
enemies at the gate
Iron Dome shoots death rockets out of the sky
again and again and again.
My mood understands.
Menopause
might be a blessing.
My Sunday morning begins at noon;
a good stretch and groan
collar bone, sternum, and shoulder
popping like bubble wrap beneath
the feet of a child.
There's a momentary sparkle
resembling static electricity
in a darkened room.
The serpentcat inside
wakes up and purrs for coffee,
ready to writhe
take a roll in the grass
and
blood. Trickles down
changes my landscape
to fissured porcelain.
There is no blooming
like the would be wordsmiths
want you to believe,
there is not a polite euphemism
or lovely transformation:
this is a goddamned running river
painting estuaries down my legs
and wounding the kitchen floor.
With nerves snapping
like dry twigs caught in wildfire
all my lines are roughed up,
fat leeches push Rorschach tests
through my cervix,
assaulted womb twisting in the fist
of angry exodus.
Yerushalayim is on fire,
enemies at the gate:
Iron Dome shoots death rockets
out of the sky again and again
and again.
My mood understands.
Menopause might be a blessing.
-------------------------------------------------
V.1
My Sunday morning begins at noon
good stretch and grrrmoan collar bone sternum shoulder
popping like bubble wrap beneath the feet of a child
there's a momentary sparkle
resembling static electricity in a darkened room.
The serpentcat inside me wakes up
purrs for coffee
ready to writhe
take a roll in the grass and
blood. Trickles down
changes my landscape to fissured porcelain
there is no blooming like the would be wordsmiths
want you to believe
there is not a polite euphemism or lovely transformation
this is a goddamned running river
painting estuaries down my legs and
wounding the kitchen floor.
Nerves snapping like dry twigs caught in wildfire
all my lines are roughed up
fat leeches push Rorschach tests through my cervix
assaulted womb twisting in the fist
of angry exodus.
Yerushalayim is on fire,
enemies at the gate
Iron Dome shoots death rockets out of the sky
again and again and again.
My mood understands.
Menopause
might be a blessing.