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About This Poem
WHERE,WHEN,HOW,WHY,WHAT
Before lamplight’s panels close the day,
I sneak into this sacramental hallway
fueling my pagan howls where I can be
the raw-weed part of me: a time when
lines are strewn on the floor--- spilling the bones
of my own fonts, scratched and bent. Here,
the ink bleeds of how i watched the pellet sun
grate dusky leaves among stones, or why
old man Charlie picked his a regular bench
on the park, talking to himself motionless
as if a 40s band were playing in his head.
More hooves stampede as the gas light
blinks with the harlequin moon, touching
my solar plexus, my zodiac beginnings: still,
the blots cough more profane curses
and blessed litanies of haunting notes releasing
a full- blown scream. Somehow, morphine hours
wear off from a trance…I walk in limbo upon wings
of paper trails flooded with drunken ABCs ,
outpouring secrecy of thoughts. My mind locks
the speech of breath's eyes in a final hymn: the drama
and comedy of one day make me a student
aging anniversaries: my bile hurts no more...
The spine of pen and words collapse as
my fingers open new stars waxing new gloss.
Joann Grisetti’s Contest: Drunken Pen 2
by nette onclaud
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