Tuesday, July 29, 2014

DISSECTIONS 3 - BY JOSEPH A. PINTO - THIS WEEK'S TERROR TUESDAY!!




http://penofthedamned.com/2014/07/29/dissections-3/

Dissections 3, by Joseph A. Pinto is this week's Terror Tuesday! I have only added a few of his super poems. Merely hit the link above to read all of them. While you are at Pen Of The Damned, read more stories by Joseph and the other members of Pen Of The Damned. If you like it Damned Dark, we have what you are looking for.

Blaze McRob


Dissections 3

DISSECTIONS 3
Dried Glue
Your frown seems longer in the shadows
and your eyes flutter like the autumn leaves
that seek solace at my feet
between us the empty shell of something once we’d born
my fingers so clumsy
trying to glue it back.
Laughter fades in the rearview
a ghost of broken promise all that remains in the street
seemingly typical when you wish to be lost in a crowd
and closed signs stop you at doors.
It’s okay, we’ll talk, won’t we?
Of times when the air rushed through our hair
the open road a cherished child.
We played favorites, didn’t we?
Always the same marker until we reached a place our own
but today your eyes signal a storm on the horizon
and your lips flutter like the autumn leaves
that seek compassion at my feet.
We held that empty shell of something once, didn’t we?
My fingers ever so clumsy
trying to glue it back.
Loose Lips
I‘m appreciative of your compassion;
ice cube cold but not quite as clean as
the Scotch waiting before me
which, incidentally, will serve to warm my
belly just fine—thanks for nothing, though
that is hard for you to understand
a concept foreign to you. Not the understanding
part, mind you, but the simple thanks. Perhaps
you should resort to drinking the hard stuff.
It will make you say things I’m sure you would never mean.
To Take What You Don’t Want To Own
This box no longer yours
becomes a useful place
for all the things
that once remained of me
eviscerated
stripped clean to bone
once corporeal
now just memory
upon another’s exhale.
The compartments you govern
belong in potter’s field
frivolous as the things
that still burden you with need.
If only my soul a warehouse
you could store
all your needless needless boxes
and rid yourself of its waste.
If only I could free you
of your needless needless boxes
make them mine
this box no longer yours.







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