THIS IS NOT POETRY

Friday, January 17, 2014

Pink Slips

You covet the powder
Pressed
Sealed firmly inside a
Petite capsule
For swallowing
Or crushing…poured out in a perfect line

The razor’s stinging edge
Slices through the fog
The cracking paper of the
Examination table
White
Sterile
Crisp
Just waiting to be torn and tossed
Ragged
Into the air like newly fallen snow
For swallowing
A blissful reassurance you’re not normal
So don’t act like it…dearest

And you want their prescriptions and their diagnosis
So you can claim your Alice in Wonderland
Your Ophelia
Kissed by lapping waves
Begging: “Eat me, swallow”

Drowning
In a pool of tears inside a bottle
Marked poison
And if one drinks very much…
Show your thigh
Wrist
Hand
And throw the cards in their faces

Because you
You and me
Or is it three…?
WE aren’t crazy
Just hazy 
Misunderstood
But perfectly summed up
We want their stares and their silence

So we can sing

No comments:

Post a Comment