Poems Are Blood and Bone
Poems are blood and bone.
~
Poets are oil spits;
flamable ancient reservoirs of
contestable spirit,
mallowed constitutions.
Hollow seekers of destitution
prowling depression beds
of coughed discarded memories
blanketed by romantic reverance
virginally shredded in lines of honest prose.
The poetic is posted between self harm
and alien repetition. The poet
sheaving change to cliche should rather
grasp the phantoms
binding body to wordly weight.
Poets lost their telos long ago,
and now farm the deserts peel;
a catalyst appraisal of
that odd-fantastic Real.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
