V--- sips her tea, which the lunatic

has spiked with a sedative potion.

She lounges on white wicker pillows

and sinks into a pool of confusion.

She hears her mind a-frantic chant,

"I don't feel that good... I'm dying."

The Madman paces back and forth

and flails his limbs like a jellyfish.

His spree of soliloquy echoes thus:

"This marvelous frequency found!

Shortly she will be on the ground."

The roses panic, stirred by a wind.


Author's Notes/Comments: 


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Seryddwr's picture

I like the way certain lines,

I like the way certain lines, and only certain lines, feature rhyme or slant-rhyme.  To me, it adds an eerily gleeful tone to the poem's implicit horrific atmosphere.  It reminds me of line 202 of T. S. Eliot's poem, The Waste Land, his quotation from Verlaine's poetry. I think those two Symbolist Poets would recognize, in you, a kindred Symbolist Poet.


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