I bleed from strange places.
Succulent seeds that breed,
a husk to my porous outspillings.
A garter that binds soft cells.
Fat knots that warp and wart.
Scar tissue heals and weeps,
issuing scented reminders
of skin before sores and more.
Gnarled whorls rise unbidden,
scab then fall in flakes.
Crusted dust in cream and red
embed in woven Persian.
Slough with dry fingertips,
tear out hair, clumped – sticky.
Peel back layers and lashes.
My eyes see less than I feel.
I bleed in strange places.
His palaces, gutters and follies
where we hang, fair game
in his blistered libraries of pain.
I just love the unexpected combinations of words, the variations of allegory. Such great stuff. Thanks for the read. :)
ReplyDeleteSickeningly beautiful.
ReplyDeleteExquisite! Quite a blend of visceral imagery. I love this line: "My eyes see less than I feel."
ReplyDeleteToo cool, Lily.
That was very well done. I love the last line "in his blistering library of pain"
ReplyDeleteVery discriptive and vivid. Nice.
Thanks everyone. The opening line came to me for no particular reason and by the time I jotted it down the rest just spilled out, drop by spattering drop.
ReplyDeleteMight ask Laurence (hubby) to run me off an illustration for this poem. I've got enough poetry for the Dark Verse Collection but finishing Magenta Shaman Stones the Crow is a priority - nearly there!
Thanks for sharing, Lily. You are my poetry queen! Excellent.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the kind words on my TB interview. You're a great friend, Lily! x
Poetry queen, indeed!
ReplyDeleteThis:
"Crusted dust in cream and red
embed in woven Persian."
... and the last paragraph... Ooooo, pretty, pretty stuff!