Friday, November 11, 2005

Blood Is The Sinner's Revenge

Thorns slung 'round my neck,
I wait for that kiss
of betrayal,
the silence between
jagged breaths,
that soft clearing
of a throat ready
to speak about coinage
or refuge in Stockholm.

Here in my blue garden,
filled with the footprints
of whores and lost Jesuits,
my tongue has been
                          fed to

poets
morticians
liars
& weeping mothers...
a delicacy.

I bleed, but my tormentors
all face east, already blind
from the sun's cruel, scorching reality.

9 comments:

Michael Parker said...

Exceptional, Pris. I love the line "my tongue has been fed to poets, morticians, liars and weeping mothers..." Wow!

Michael Parker said...

Have you submitted this to Didi and this upcoming issue of MiPoesias?

Pris said...

Thanks, Micheal
I had just sent three off to her before this one started coming out. I may add it to my submissions. I don't know if it's too late to do so or not.

Today is 'test' day, so I'll try sending it after I'm back and rested.

Carter Monroe said...

Strong work here, Pris.

Pris said...

Thanks, Carter!

keros said...

Hi Pris- Love your Work!

Pris said...

Hi Stranger!
Thanks.

Geoff Sanderson said...

You're still on top form, kiddo. I like the way you have moved the two words 'fed to' to ease the enjambment, as we discussed; smoother now (though I still think I'm right - but you are such a stubborn cuss, and insist on doing it your way :-)

Pris said...

thanks again for the suggestion, and who's stubborn???:-)