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benjamin-daviesPoems
I. The humdrum whitewashed wall of my balcony overlooks almost everyone here, but it’s yellowed in the slightly past-the-season holiday lights winking behind my back. Rip them out, and yet the still flaming cigarette butts alight the charred pupils watching. Never quite willed away. II. Today I saw a hairy upper-ankle poking out from a tie-dye dress and out-of-fashion Birkenstocks. Adam leering through the straightened golden curtains, and I thought: woman? No. You wouldn’t catch me out like that. III. The end of my mug’s looming and only now am I confident in passing personal judgment. The last drops smile while they cling resolutely to the inner-rim. How they refuse to fall! The sprightly demon climbing the wet, ridged inner-walls of my throat is parched, strumming on my vocal chords, and I’m singing, obscenely. IV. You can’t come into my house before I’ve cleaned it up, flipped the cushions, hidden all the plastic cups and washed the clear ones to look like glass. I’ve gotta Lysol, Clear-ox, and detox, then I’ll let you in, maybe. V. My balcony knows too much about me. -BRD Copyright @2012 by Ben Davies
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Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
Perched
I. The humdrum whitewashed wall of my balcony overlooks almost everyone here, but it’s yellowed in the slightly past-the-season holiday lights winking behind my back. Rip them out, and yet the still flaming cigarette butts alight the charred pupils watching. Never quite willed away. II. Today I saw a hairy upper-ankle poking out from a tie-dye dress and out-of-fashion Birkenstocks. Adam leering through the straightened golden curtains, and I thought: woman? No. You wouldn’t catch me out like that. III. The end of my mug’s looming and only now am I confident in passing personal judgment. The last drops smile while they cling resolutely to the inner-rim. How they refuse to fall! The sprightly demon climbing the wet, ridged inner-walls of my throat is parched, strumming on my vocal chords, and I’m singing, obscenely. IV. You can’t come into my house before I’ve cleaned it up, flipped the cushions, hidden all the plastic cups and washed the clear ones to look like glass. I’ve gotta Lysol, Clear-ox, and detox, then I’ll let you in, maybe. V. My balcony knows too much about me. -BRD Copyright @2012 by Ben Davies
Written by
benjamin-davies
English
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 11:48 AM UTC
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