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11/02/11
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Bad poetry heart beats beneath breastplates
like shuddering animals. Like an old car shakes
or an old man moves towards a chair.
My heart doesn't have a brain. As fragile insects moving along the surface of the water alone
that's what we are when we're drunk together. Your breath is like
the pencil-stroke leg of a spider
making blushes out of spirals
you could not say I've ever spiraled out from any control. I have always
beat against doorways,
wanting somehow to find some meaningful cadence
to spend all the moaning on. Bow up in my hair
where it will never belong. How I've belonged at times
in different places altogether. Sometimes my brain
beats like my heart battering
blue eyes. This room is the hymen of my existence
an impasse
that holds so much alcohol between its bosom, bottles shivering
inexplicably. Liquid shimmering.
Not bad at all!
You tagged this as bad poetry. I think it's pretty good. Maybe it's because I prefer avant-garde poetry :-) Each line is a visual treat but my favourite line of all is "This room is the hymen of my existence" :-)
Check out my poetry book - as I write it! http://lostincyberspacepoems.blogspot.com