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SCRATCH*JOB
hold the fast down
the light town
spreading like a sweet concussion
the echo chamber roam
and the pain wrenched groan
taste your ghost
in the ache
of the shake
falling
in the ruin
like the dust
from the crash
waking
breaking
bones and hearts
souls and kingdom
kind asunder
the torch of shame
burning up the blunders
and you stare into the
pain of heaven
and wonder
paws poised above
the nicotine grin
of the smiling piano
walking flagstone
rounds with Cyrano
in a day fetid dreams
like a smoking volcano
and beneath the sun dusted
work of the best silk shirt
dries the wounds
of your best
cats claws
Editing stage:
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Comments
weirdelf
Wed, 2013-02-27 01:25
I like it it
But I don't get it.
Not necessarily a problem.
cheers,
Jess
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Esker
Wed, 2013-02-27 01:32
Its about the Ego
cats paws are the women I chose to claw me
not really but words
how I hunger for that ache my mother would leave
like a mark
indelible and seeping the heart
raked
wander in the city riding the public limo
stalking the streets for my image in the plate
glass...If I see a reflection I know Im alive
when I dont..then I know its not me anymore
thats who I tell
sometimes
nicotine grin are a lot of these folk smoke
and the piano are just the score
the daily life
chords..
My mom died of cancer and probably in pain
heaven..all of that ideology gets to me
I carry a lot of hurt about
hanging onto it
bad juju
sometimes I try to write of it
in an abstract way that I wont
offend that other self
the fulcrum is poetry
to the great imbalance
Thank You!