The Escape Artist

There was elegance in my self-destruction
Disheartened trees stood
In the tall wet grass
Pointing their undressed limbs
In every direction
Stiff like corpses doomed to suffer
Silently through the tormenting rain and snow
I pressed my chapped lips
Against the comfort of a forgotten rosary
My knuckles exploded in ghostly white
As if they were frozen to the cold steel
Of a rusty park bench
Curvy veins protruded like snakes
Entangled in the skin of my forearm
Eagerly awaiting their venom fix
My reflection faked a smile
Beneath the shiny metallic surface of a spoon
Glowing red above a candle’s flame
The needle tore a hole
As if it were penetrating the thick fabric skin
Of a voodoo doll
Basking in its vengeance
My empty silhouette made its bed on the blacktop
Dressed in retired leaves and cigarette butts
Raindrops fell from the sky
As if they were the tears of a mother
Who loved unconditionally
Reality painted black



Michael Comoroto

the fix makes objex of us all
the rain licks its fingers on the glass
today I saw the sun in the afternoon
before the day got too tired in my legs
standing on the common listening too too long
to the confused politicians watching the clocks
on the lawn getting wetter, wetter


Your poem is full and heavy and brings me to my imaginations.

amo,

Peter

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 11/03/2022 02:50PM by petersz.

Michael, this seems like déjà vu all over again.

Before you posted in Emule, you made some interesting edits after

[www.everypoet.org] />
but now the poem is unchanged from

[www.emule.com]

Nothing wrong with resurrecting a post seeking fresh readership and comment, but, to avoid confusion, best do it by bumping the old thread.

Ian