The Dead Pour Me Out Like Tea
I am dead to many, a few are dead to me.
I am forgotten
by girls in green silk sarongs
yet they still pour me out like tea.
The dead are drunk on themselves,
as I am.
I throw up
a timeworn rope of thought
they haul me up
just enough for me to see
the moon
caught in a teacup,
then I allow them,
let them breathe life
into my mouth
and I again remember.
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.
