NeuromaA Poem by h d e rushinmy 911 poemFirst my weaknesses are of those on the roof who decided to jump. May as well lose on your own terms, I figured. Holy Father, what happened? It's me again paying lipservice to sacrifice that wasn't drawn from humility nor drug from paradise nor like Adonis killed by a wild bore yet restored/ but what of young love or hansom children? What of the things i've thrown away: English degree three lovers (two gone mad) a diabetic dad. The black eyed Susan's that multiplied and threw themselves limp on the porch. What of the last moments before my plane plows down the elevator shaft? Childless, do you hike your dress up in one last act of flirtation or tare at the face of the man sitting next to you? Do you take your last drag of oxygen like sucking on that blunt with Curtis in his bathroom? I mean, how many houses have we passed Oh Lord and wondered about the crazy persons locked in their basements? 2> I adored the people that I buried. All of them. I guess they too are customary poetics, close to cause and attached to amendments like a law never followed. Adorning. Blessed but rushed out like Plath's last poems. And any suggestion that poetry cheapens worth is the liturgical removal of hurt and time. Time is jubilant , even raucous. Death is context and adorning.. We don't always get to pick our poison.
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3 Reviews Added on September 12, 2020 Last Updated on September 12, 2020 Author
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