the cigarette butt gets charred in his fist,
his belt sneaks out of a loop
penetrating the orifices of the wind.
she complains of the food not cooked well,
to hell with the homie, since the mad uncle of
KFC is so hypnotic, handing out lollipops,
but not to the random connoisseur sitting
at the roadside, muttering abuses of
disproportionate shapes and sizes.
where there is sanity, there are decapitated
fingers tapping on lurid screens, lapping to
the other side 5 kms away, 100 meters are
too desperate, after all.
who wouldn’t want to suck the lactating nipples
of this evening, and
bite into the rhetoric flesh of silence that
encloses this open-to-all soirée.
we are not indelible, nor are we buttressing unsaid
fetishes in our guts, so why bother about it,
shadows won’t question, lights would, but for that
we are left clinging to these lampooned lamp posts.
there is always another evening, let’s keep our end
of the bargain after all,
there is always another evening, let’s stay desolate
once more.
.
Linking it up with Poets United
I so enjoy your phrasing:
where there is sanity, there are decapitated
fingers tapping on lurid screens..
Wonderful writing.
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where there is sanity, there are decapitated
fingers tapping on lurid screens
Your imagery and diction always leaves me astounded! Gorgeously penned!
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there is always another evening,
let’s keep our end of the bargain after all,
There is always an opportunity in the future. One will appear fair to give enough space for eventualities!
Hank
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bite into the rhetoric flesh of silence that
encloses this open-to-all soirée…. vivid, intense language..a joy to read.
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The imagery on this is biting and raw. It created some powerful mental images as I read.
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i liked it right off the bat, but then when we get to suck on lactating nipples…well…yes!
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there is always another evening…lets us not forget there is also another morning…
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ps – it’s been a while since I read your poetry.
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What an original idea, sacking the lactating nappies of the evening……so nice to see you linking, HA.
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“penetrating the orifices of the wind.”
Of course somewhere out there Divinity is taking note of the goings ons
here below
Happy Sunday Anmol
Much love…
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Gritty and raw. Indelible word pictures!
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This is such vivid imagery….so powerful:
“who wouldn’t want to suck the lactating nipples
of this evening, and
bite into the rhetoric flesh of silence that
encloses this open-to-all soirée.”
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Yes, there is always another evening….and yes, as Truedessa says, another morning as well. Your poem expresses something profound!
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I think one of the mistakes we make is to try to make sense out of life. I am glad that you haven’t in this poem.
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A powerful “take” on time … our enemy, our friend, our joy, our pain – and sometimes, as you have expressed so eloquently: vulgar handiwork.
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Vivid imagery, well written,
Elizabeth
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Not reading you for some time, absence seems to bring more power into your work. Enjoyed the ‘guts’ in this Anmol. Hope you are well.
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Staying desolate is not something I personally would want to do, but the narrator seems content to make that choice, so who am I to argue?
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Love, love your imagery–I could read this again and again and fall in love with it each time
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