I used to write poetry
And here’s a piece I wrote more than a few years ago that I just stumbled across in one of my old moleskines.
And so those days of subtle genius gone
Days spent fishing for leaves in the back yard
Full of hammocks and skinned knees, dew at dawn
And the dog has been missing since the sun went downHe bounds into view with the sun at noon
A strange creature with five legs instead of four
One dangles from his mouth, clearly not his own
And it will be used for walking no moreAs blood stains the deck and drips from his mouth
It is a strangely beautiful nightmare
One that leaves a wanting for the waking
A curiosity for the mortalBent and broken at all the wrong angles
Flesh stripped away in no certain pattern
And no one will touch it save the dog and
Flies begin to materialize and feastWe three sit with our faces against glass
Groaning complaints of the sight and smell
And turning away is not an optionIt stays for two days and quickly becomes
An average, common place sight
Like some everyday monstrosityAnd when it leaves under cover of night
Reclaimed by some wandering creature
And no longer some scavenger’s bounty
We are forlorn and must look elsewhere for decayAnd we are not disappointed, to say the least.


I am really having hard time understanding this peace. May be if I spoke English would help.
Ivona
Ivona
21 Feb 09 at 11:49 pm
Ahh, nothing like an old moleskin.
Sky
22 Feb 09 at 1:07 pm
You Nancy.
Kyle
12 Jun 09 at 12:51 am