Saturday, January 4, 2014

Poetry Is?

Poetry Is….
"Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted "(Percy Bysshe Shelley)

Poetry is corseted breath
The rushing blood tumultuous
Brings a blush of color
Where tender flesh cleaves
Poetry is the resonant wet remembrance
Of another lover’s embrace
Poetry is eyes that look at you
And think of her
Poetry is the tactile pulse
Forever perched
Toes curled at the edge of ecstasy
The dull aching promise of oblivion
Takes root at the base of your spine
Poetry is the thrust of terminal expectation
Leaving you just shy of sated

Poetry is the crawling terror
Pierced where the marrow seeps
The upwelling sanguine tallow
That coats the throat
Poetry is the spasmodic purge
At the edge of death
Poetry scries the offal
Of dreams bled out
Poetry is barren earth
Jaws flung wide to consume  
The wilting rose bruised by clammy hands
Of the innocent
Unprepared to drop a fragile offering
In the shallow grave
Of Poetry

Poetry offers succor
To a starving man
Then takes the spoon away
Poetry is the crave of sweet candy
Laced with acid
She leaves you empty eyed
And foaming at the mouth
Tendons locked to the breaking
Poetry is no release
She will feed on your misery
Like a hyena on a fawn
Poetry is the slow gnaw
Of heavy teeth
The vivisection of your identity
Suicide by paper and pen

Poetry promises life and light
On gossamer wings she flies
Sacred arms akimbo
To catch the pure heart
Then takes the offering of words and bone and soul
And devours it whole
Salvation in pretty verbs and rhymes is a lie
Poetry is a succubus
Hell bent to consume you raw on the half shell
And piss on the altar you built to her
Poetry is feral
Whelping minions in the dugout of your brain
Poetry is the howling creature
You can never tame

TL Boehm
05/28/13

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