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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: 

Comments

But I don't get it.

Not necessarily a problem.

cheers,
Jess
Neopoet Managing Directors, with Richard (themoonman)

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!

author comment
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