Monday, February 13, 2012

It Will Be Revised (poem found in journal)

There are others--poems I've scribbled in journals and forgotten.  You are not forgotten poem.  You are blogged. 


The bed was lofty
his thoughts were dirty
the room drafty
the wind dipsy
the day drifting
the cloud another childhood toy.

Her loft was airy
its mice walled in
the cat nappy
the rug Persian
the taffy toffee
the dish, well, it is always
the dish.

They drank
slept on it
woke stiff
woke the stiff
stiffed the woken
amassed the masses
got smashed at Mass
sleep walked
washed it off.

The repetitive nature of
a tunnel haunts me.

We could extradite the dead
if God'd sign on
the dotted line.

You could wander all Canaan
in search of a three-part
self-carbon form.
You could gnash your teeth
to dust.

All choices are multiple
too many questions an essay
String theory does nothing
for lasagna.

Suicide is always an option.

The faint thought
beside the point
of being love and
obliged to feed the poor
to know the sun in your pores
is not sex but
it will do when you're out
and about.

Me (Sarah Sarai), Feb. 2012

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