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Leafy Bones

Tuesday 15 November 2011

Inside the ribcage

She's difficult-
interchangeable, indescribable.
Incoherent.
And until we're in agreement
my mind can't keep up.

Inside the ribcage
nest upon nests are made,
and maybe I am in there too.

Compass to masses:
stranded out here,
in your beautiful arms- outstretched
across the miles
that descend loneliness.
That ascend her clots.

Picnic on the marrow,
she beats a thousand drums;
land, home, hereafter.
Tomorrow it will be plain,
and tonight in vain.

7 comments:

  1. Wow truly compelling piece, never knew inside the ribcage could be so full, until the picnic starts..haha

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  2. that ascend her clots is a visceral line, i like...which leads well into the last which is just as...picnicing on the marrow...wow...that whole last stanza is tight...

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  3. Striking and sharp, stiletto-like use of personification to skewer the emotions and turn them on the slow revolving spit of poetry--final lines are genius.

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  4. This is poetry. I especially love the second stanza.

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