March 4, 2016

running off with an image of myself as a scullery maid on fire

(there is an old piano playing)

thrice the bite marks left were in need of nurturing 
some poultice of bitter herbs and petal jaunts would haunt 
any infection said to be wandering in...the sickness would last 
10-14 days, after that only death to eat completed palace walls 
the hallmarks here are indigo black light spatter sights 
made playing in the dark fun a depend 
on nothing suspend any belief when you can 
afford yourself the luxury of bleeding out rust(s) 
honestly seen, the scene like Mars with a blue sky 
a barn find Satie, Oklahoma maybe...



  1. What a fun title.
    Great poem, right down to the very interesting ending where I find "sad(istic)eye O-clay/clue-ho-Ma (or homer)." Barns make me think of (h)owls and hay. Also ladders to lofts and some really great books I've read. I can't think of a more pleasant day than hiding in a loft with a book, excusing myself from chores. Books are always worth the trouble that comes after. Better to neglect work than reading.

    Although this poem has nothing to do with that. These people are sneaking off to get kinky. I wonder who the speaker is. Is she's a scullery maid, then is he a hired hand or is he the lord of the manor? So juicy ...

    Excellent line breaks and language throughout. I've particularly enjoyed the first two lines about a hundred times. Oh, and the indigo line, which is so funny because when I deleted my previous blog, I stored it all away into silence called "indigo sleeping." Then you posted this. Very interesting vibe. It's as it should be, with the universe and all. I think we should just know things, be connected to things other people are doing, without even knowing it. It tells me that our brains are functioning properly, pulling that energy out of the air. Most people miss out on so much knowledge because they're too busy ... well too busy. Not enough thinking. Too much thinking. I find that both are bad, but I guess the former is less painful. The blur is easier than the sharpness.

    Oh, this is also a vampire poem, a genre of poetry that I love. I'm tempted to type "Edward" as my name, to play vampire. But I wouldn't want you to get confused and think that I'm you.

  2. It's here. But like I said, I'm not leaving it open for long.