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"pollocked" poems
A living skin, a skein of green briars where a half-hinged door is wagged by the wind Good-natured god, decay’s stigmata-stained spires nettles paint the stairs splotch patterned, olive skinned Glass window shards grab a slip of silk curtain pick-pocket beetles engrave brute luck broadside Chimney thrushes cabined in ash are certain cynicism’s growing sums are rectified Blue jays opine time’s cuckoo clock mocking worms ply enormous copses, scrawl casts of clay Autumn gusts and rains whirl detritus stocking flung colors Pollocked, clutter’s chaos array Hours dissolve the acorns and soft seeds scatter as grasses grown tall have turned light yellow architecture’s flourishes are picked off crumbled valuables filched and turned to dirt tumult’s passages dug the driveway’s trough carrion feeders pull black quills from their shirt slugs smear a rainbow trail and mice scurry collapsed walls fall to the slush of leaf slurry
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Nov 30, 2017
Nov 30, 2017 at 1:15 AM UTC
mary-winslow
Entropy's House
A living skin, a skein of green briars where a half-hinged door is wagged by the wind Good-natured god, decay’s stigmata-stained spires nettles paint the stairs splotch patterned, olive skinned Glass window shards grab a slip of silk curtain pick-pocket beetles engrave brute luck broadside Chimney thrushes cabined in ash are certain cynicism’s growing sums are rectified Blue jays opine time’s cuckoo clock mocking worms ply enormous copses, scrawl casts of clay Autumn gusts and rains whirl detritus stocking flung colors Pollocked, clutter’s chaos array Hours dissolve the acorns and soft seeds scatter as grasses grown tall have turned light yellow architecture’s flourishes are picked off crumbled valuables filched and turned to dirt tumult’s passages dug the driveway’s trough carrion feeders pull black quills from their shirt slugs smear a rainbow trail and mice scurry collapsed walls fall to the slush of leaf slurry
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Did he kiss it a kiss he never kissed me, With lips and tongue, bitter and hard? Or was it a peck on the jaw, right under the chin, Hot skin meeting cold metal? Definitely not a lover’s caress of the temple For he was no more stupid than sentimental. Blood and brain guts Pollocked across the sheets Soaking into the unfinished headboard– Drops of ruby peppering the walls– Eyes vacant, like ***** dishwater A kiss from you would have been a gun to my lips– Perhaps I dodged a bullet When you decided to love yourself more than me.
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Mar 8, 2018
Mar 8, 2018 at 1:37 PM UTC
jesha
Kiss of Death
Did he kiss it a kiss he never kissed me, With lips and tongue, bitter and hard? Or was it a peck on the jaw, right under the chin, Hot skin meeting cold metal? Definitely not a lover’s caress of the temple For he was no more stupid than sentimental. Blood and brain guts Pollocked across the sheets Soaking into the unfinished headboard– Drops of ruby peppering the walls– Eyes vacant, like ***** dishwater A kiss from you would have been a gun to my lips– Perhaps I dodged a bullet When you decided to love yourself more than me.
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