Saturday, January 14, 2006

changeling (new title)

nobody tells you that you're going to have to turn
your heart into old shoe leather one day,
shred pictures, sleep with the dog.

he must've been inside me a thousand times,
but who counts these things?
who thinks the time will come when
it's the last mouth against mouth,
the final creak of the bed, come midnight?

his footprints haunt my house;
they lead everywhere, yet nowhere.

he left before the plot had ended.
no silver dropped from a Roman palm.
no poison or beheadings or, god forbid,
a drowning, but

like a vampire, he has taken my blood.
my veins shred open like rice paper,
spilling bad love poems into the night.

i have no pulse.
no tears.

i am as white as the winter's rain.

11 comments:

Ellen M Johns said...

Men...who needs 'em. Well...some of them anyway.

Excellent poem Pris.

Pris said...

Hi Ellen
Thanks. Sure is hard to sort out the keepers:-)

J.B. Rowell said...

The second stanza is especially captivating, along with the rice paper and ending. An intense poem Pris.
Julia

Pris said...

Hi Julia
Thanks. I'm glad this meant something to you.

J. Andrew Lockhart said...

hey -- don't throw out all men!
have a good weekend!
Andrew

Pris said...

Hi Andrew

Octavia said...

Another nice one, Pris:)

I just came in to browse around a bit & wanted to say "HI".

Pris said...

Hi Octavia
Glad to see you!

Michael Parker said...

Oh, this is exceptional! It's very powerful. Love it!

Pris said...

Thanks, Michael
s.a. griffin, co-editor of The Outlaw Book of American Poetry, saw it on MySpace where I put some of my stuff and has asked to put it in monthly sheet. I like his work and am pleased to have it go there. Glad you liked this, too.

Michael Parker said...

Excellent news, Pris! Congratulations!