"scritching" poems
A VISIT TO THE DENTIST
The Green Mile to
The Chair
The snap of hygienist’s latex gloves, then
Scraping, scritching, spitting blood
“Only one” gaping hole
no matter how much chocolate I eschewed
in favor of chewing Trident
(I’m *******
The Dentist
My personal Olivier, and I, his Dustin.
Needle. Lets it set in.
The drill, the smile of the sadist
squealing torture, my mouth on the rack
I CAN FEEL PAIN
but it comes out, “owiusmmorsoss”
(“ow, I want some more shots!”)
Another shot.
I press on: “LA. The 70s. I did more than this for fun.”
Reluctantly, another shot. And another.
As the drill grinds and keens
I pull out my secret weapon – how could I forget?
This is why God
invented the IPod
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 7:45 PM UTC
There is a Raven
Perched upon my window sill,
Its talons tearing into the paint.
The tick-tock
Of a grandfather clock
Resounds throughout the walls,
Matching the scritching-scratching
Of the ravens claws.
I sit in the corner,
As I have for night after night,
Not sleeping,
Never sleeping,
Simply sitting and waiting.
The Raven begins
To tap-tap-tap
At the window pane.
And I sit
And wait.
How long now has it been?
Since my Sun,
So beautiful at its Dawn,
Had left its Noon-time heights
For an untimely Setting?
Sadly grieveous as it had been,
My Sunset had been darkly beautiful,
Asplash with deep reds and purple,
Crowned in gold.
Oh that I had been Pyramus and she Thisbe.
Star-crossed and Tragic,
A love made eternal by mutual deaths.
Alas, it was not to be,
For I am no Pyramus and she no Thisbe.
She went ahead of me
And not by choice of her own,
By my blade yet not her hand.
And after her I would chase,
Pleaing forgiveness on bended knee
In that next dream.
Yet I am afraid,
Of the knife,
Her scorn,
Her embrace.
And so I sit
And wait.
The Raven is at my window,
Talons scratching divots in the sill.
The resounding of the clock
Still surrounds me,
As I sit
And wait.
Jul 18, 2012
Jul 18, 2012 at 12:10 AM UTC
Now all I have left is
water in my ears, heavy chlorine in my hair,
a hangover from lack of sleep, and
"Mama" playing along to the demented viewmaster in my head:
K snorting fun dip from a paper plate and
rolling on the floor with her blue-black tongue.
us running across the train tracks,
nettles scritching my poorly-shaven legs.
And us trying to perform a satanic ritual
in a hotel pool.
Surprisingly, thirteen doesn’t feel any different,
does it?
Jul 12, 2014
Jul 12, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
As i Smoke the Day's last Cigarette
Animal Sounds all Around me
the Restless cat Scratches at
the Watchful dog
the Seagull squawks, Seeking to
Snack on the Frog
who Sings his Heart and Throat raw
Out in the Pond,
a Song for the Raccoon
in the Woods Beyond
and the Cat starts to cry,
the Dog gives a sigh;
the Frog sings along,
the Raccoon and Seagull die
Mother Sleeps while Child Writes, the Story
of so Many Nights-
the Animal Sounds All Around;
Crying, Sighing, Singing Dying,
Scritching and Scratching of Claw and Pen
As i Smoke the Day's last Cigarette
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 5:50 AM UTC
The scritching and scratching of bristles on canvas,
The whispering of dancing paint strokes upon it,
Meeting and mingling with each other
And attempting to reflect
the ethereal dreams drifting deep
Within the misty maze of my mind.
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 4:06 PM UTC
On past the trail
I follow you there
pulled by the stare
you eager face fair
unwound and unbound
untamed by a love
your scritching and scratching
from the limbs up above
A beast that has hunted
my body tonight
then took flight
as I gasped in the
aching of sight
I just might
live the night through
or be eaten by you
doesn't matter, I speak
for I know I am weak
and I hate you for bringing
my body to peak
in the dead of the forest
we kissed, oh what bliss
in the fear of the rustling
things in the mist
I relinquished my soul
as you knew it would be
so i tried but i died
and the night never lied
but it craved and it hungered
then it rained and it thundered
till there was no trace of me
nor of thee
May 19, 2010
May 19, 2010 at 10:50 PM UTC
the sound of
scritching and
scratching
creaking and cracking
hounds me
even if it is merely
echoes of thought
in the examination hall
where you promised that I would not
fal
ter
the sound of
squeaking and
scratching
clicking and clacking
surrounds me
even if it is surely
bellows of ambition
between the office walls
where you promised that I would not
fal
ter
as I
stand
at the edge
where the whistling wind beckons
me to the chattering city below
I promise you that I will not
fall
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 8:29 PM UTC