..................................................................................................................................................
The Poetry Of.
Anita Dahlman...............................................
after jezebel
your jezebel abandoned
you and left you twisting
on her crossed and pagan
heart, chained to her,
flailing at the memory
of facile lies, disarmed
by endearments that
fell soft, in silken cuffs.
when you screamed
admonishments to shake
the sky, heaven abolished
your name and crushed
your heart, hurling the
eviscerated remains
to drift below the ground.
she left you, to lie with curs,
to sleep on rough-hewn shreds,
debased, stone where your
heart once lay, returning
from her orgiastic rounds,
to taunt you with her moans.
and you, lying where death
hoped to prove a martyr,
immutable, inert, unable,
heard the witness at the door,
who spoke of the unknown,
the weightless flight to heaven,
and listening, you moved.
KP
I've been flipped, soft as flapjacks,
eggs over easy, left too long
on the griddle.
My sugar bowl has been uncovered,
hardening the sweet stuff into
messy clumps, which none-the-less,
still taste sweet.
I'd try the honey, but the lid is stuck,
immoveable with goo, where sticky fingers
dipped in ravenous frenzy.
I've been thinking I feel used up, limp,
an old rag in a piled-up sink,
an empty cupboard, ravaged by foraging children,
those heathens ransacking my stores.
My duty should be complete by now,
I've been depleted, emptied, tarnished,
absolutely flattened.
Funny how just a hint of sweetness
flips me over, back at it, slinging hash.
Finding Religion
I was high
high up atop
incendiary cities
in miles of smoke
and stood in fire
just waiting
for the silver
spiral of rescue
racing down to me.
