[Blood from a turnip]

It's everywhere
this bittersweet
literary device of
deus ex machina
it brings hope to
real life
being saved in that
nick of time
Given the definition
and expected to interpret
Life foreshadows death
in this
rubix cube
of sentimentality and grandeur
Destruction of us
supreme beings of
leisure and soma
and a Malthusian doctrine
Population overflow
advance
kill off the young'uns
who knows
we killed off the
future
doctors lawyers taxpayers alike
the music of musicals
permits regret
in this
perfect application
of
Vitality.

 

[Gunshots]

Your lips approached
as five blasts
found the heart of some
unsuspecting widow

ceremonies of beats and flares
aiding in the restoration of
emotional colonies in the blood
my mouth receives you
the widow crumples while
the madman escapes
and my mind goes crazy
calm down
I hear
is that him thinking
or me

what's the difference
I surrender
and admit to a vulnerable state

and a compass drives me crazy
this is where you take me to the north

 

[Digging Graves]

Treading;;;
Skin-thick water,
Heading south instead of north
It's like a tiny revolution tickling the under layers of our
Uncooked flesh

Tricky stuff to digest-the conception
Decay has set in with its steady stink
And sensation of alcohol, rough mead
We've made by pulling apart.
A new destructive chemistry

Religion? Deconstructionist
Pulling apart our foundation at the beams,
Tossing aside nut after bolt after nail
Relocating beams and wires

The blueprints we had each created
[Apparently, for each other]
Fused cleanly
Clean-cut lines and minimalist superiority

Our buildings won awards
Our home was an accolade on it's own,
Split personalities compounded
Everyone's interest grew

One night we struck a nerve then
Struck a match
You lit my hair on fire,
I went straight for your crotch

We ran in odd circles around the
Kitchen, the stove alight, cheering us on
The flaming spectacle of farce drew
Even the microwaves unyielding attention

It was a disasterly comic approach to change;
Needing a break from everything but ourselves,
Where the source of our connection originated
An oasis where the external didn't muffle our adoration

[END]

© Elizabeth Robbins 2002