Friday, April 13, 2012

Classy


Classy

Surrogate heart
I hear laughter down the steps
In the pharmacy style cabinets
Their glass doors with fulltime fog
I ogle at shapes and shadows

Somebody stole my medicine

An asymmetric whiskey bottle
Hides between tall plastic boxes and
At times I forget it is there, not to drink
But to purify, to disinfect

The well-known gaps along my vegetable knife,
Forty-five bumps smoothened by years
Of potatoes and carrots and 
Shaky white wrists,
Longing for the high that never comes.


9 Comments So Far:

  1. Of all things literary, I feel poetry is the most "beauty is in the eye of the beholder"genre. I tend to lean towards the obscure and ancient, and then jump to pop-style that could end up as lyrics for an easy listening artist. I'm a romantic that way. That being said, I love this poem. It feels raw and significant, and the imagery is pure genius.

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  2. interesting place. I may be back.

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  3. Forceful and lyric even in pain.

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  4. very nicely spun...the intimate details of the knife is def a great touch...knowing the teeth...and the placement of the bottle and forgetting its purpose...always looking for the high, i can relate on some level to that...

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  5. a sense of calm desperation throughout. dark, searching...hard to read, but very good.

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  6. Deep and dark, somewhat disturbing in the thoughts of self destruction and, the intimate detail of the knife. For all of that I see see that tiny slither of hope in it. Great imagery and, writing

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  7. great imagery in this...esp. loved..Forty-five bumps smoothened by years Of potatoes and carrots and ...

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