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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
July 21, 2006
While For a Crow on a Telephone Wire by ~prufock takes inspiration from the poetry of Ted Hughes in its approach, in itself it is no less compelling or tangibly 'oppressive'.
Featured by somestrangebirds
Literature Text
being black is oppressive,
ballast in a body that should not
sit so elegantly on a flimsy wire.
lines should tense or bend
beneath your weight, but you have bones
formed of wind
and ride on things less dense.
ballast in a body that should not
sit so elegantly on a flimsy wire.
lines should tense or bend
beneath your weight, but you have bones
formed of wind
and ride on things less dense.
Literature
Our Issues
Your heart grew up in a black wooden box
and thought it fabulous,
its world of
right angles,
wood grain,
and eternal night.
It hated me when I bored the hole
that let the sun singe its eyes, cook its skin,
when rain collected the dirt on its skin
in a puddle beneath its feet and said:
"look how dirty you are, foul thing."
It hated and
hated and
still hates,
always crawling
under any
box it finds.
I kicked it
out of its hiding place.
It ran out howling, hating and being
ha
Literature
umbrellas
I.
A boy putters in the hotel
corridor, leashed
by a single thread of duty--
it is wound
twice around the doorknob,
pulls taut at his wrist.
Recede through the keyhole,
and his keepers are weary,
sprawled like dead
leaves on bedspreads,
and fading
into sleep.
II.
A small girl wails, maybe three,
her teethy pitch escalating
by years.
In the rented night,
her last cry strangles,
undone by hands
on wrists.
III.
A forty-foot red curtain separates us
from the amphibious stage.
At the cirque du soleil
(i squint to see the sun),
clowns chase leaks
with patchy umbrellas.
This is a present, a moment
like a birthday. But
Literature
there's a drawing room...
there's a drawing room hidden inside
my right pinky. I go there sometimes when I can't
sleep. I have found all I have to do is bring
some peaches and imagine I have a red hat on
and it will let me in. I realize that this is where I keep
my poetry, and where I kept that poem I wrote
in my dream, which I thought I had lost. It turns out
it was bad, anyway, but it was dripping with honey
so I licked it and stored it away under my left middle toe.
that is my storage closet.
my soul is located in the back of my right knee. I visit
when I can and talk to it through high frequency brain
waves when I can't sleep. it's nice, but very borin
Suggested Collections
"For a Crow on a Telephone Wire:"
there wasn't room for the colon.
i've been reading a lot of Ted Hughes.
this is an incomplete version. i plan on adding a few more stanzas, but i thought it put it up and test the waters
there wasn't room for the colon.
i've been reading a lot of Ted Hughes.
this is an incomplete version. i plan on adding a few more stanzas, but i thought it put it up and test the waters
© 2004 - 2024 prufock
Comments53
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You probably don't need me to tell you this, but I think it's freaking brilliant! It really sounds like something that should be in a poetry anthology. Do you write a lot?