Monday, April 17, 2006


Bare on the stained mattress,
hair spread beneath her
like the flame of a rising sun,
this runaway, this woman fleeing
her midlife, waits for the crazy man.

He lives in a jade forest,
cabin carved with his fingernails.
They've spied on him since Nam,
he's told her, aiming satellites close
in to listen, painting cryptic messages
across the sky with their jets.

She doesn't care.
She half believes him, wants
to believe him in her rush to escape
her glass house by the sea.

For that moment,
that sweep into another life
in her wish for a new hardness
to enter her, a fresh mouth at her breast
she has given up everything, but

he carves deeper into the forest.
The voices say she's the enemy, too.
Thorns cut her feet leaving.
Judas kisses away her tears.
A cross marks the road home.

Pris Campbell

(I posted this at MySpace a day ahead of the post here. It might be fun to look at the post and comments on that site. Click HEREthen click on Runaway /View More in the blog listings up top.


Pat Paulk said...

WOW!!! This is a great poem!! Last three lines are perfect!!

Pris said...

Thank, Pat.

erin said...

Great write Pris! I like this a lot!

Pris said...

Thanks, Erin. Good to see you. Am thinking about you.

pepektheassassin said...

Really fine!

Pris said...

thanks, pepe!

polona said...

haunting and beautiful!

Pris said...

Thank you.

likenakedvenus said...

beautiful---you have a creative style---takes me places

Pris said...

Thanks, and welcome to my blog!

didi said...

Prissy - please record this one - use odeo if you like.


Pris said...

will do.