The Yell Room
I live in a room that moans,
we are segregated through pitch; that stomach ache
and my sigh.
She covets clothes,
impressions of talent, watches me walk away
with four walls
on skin.
At an excuse, I sit with her,
a candle up to my eye,
imagine a Victorian, a house closing in on my ribs,
twisted wreaths around my spine, tilting my head up,
gasping for breath and a husband.
Whose side is she on?
I see myself as a hallucination,
crystallized on a window pane.
Through my fingers, the breath,
and a boy down there, kicking coal in the snow.
He sees me,
I know that he does.
These walls! These growing thorny Rapunzal scrawls!
I am kept a lodged sick fish; a silver tongue through my jaw,
a pendulum, swinging,
a fat mentor.
I know he sees me.
Outside He follows; His eyes shaking,
His wage a pesticide, His society
too cautious of a doctor’s note.
My fingers skim the bumps;
childless, my cheeks flushed monthly,
so wrong today
and my pace stutters in the room
upon meeting your frame
like a moth's heart.
winston plowes
Fri 3rd Dec 2010 14:59
What is it with you and moths? Actually I think we are both interested in them (just from a different angle) A bit different this one, liked a silver tongue through my jaw, a pendulum,. I have had 2 words in my head lately which fit with these, weirdness to be continued lol. Win