Erosion of Poetry

Splash of vivid orange, gaudy against (skin/sky/strobe/stroke),
as if plastic was bleeding, as if jugs carried segments
made whole, and then squeezed them into a Dali-esque breakfast.
There, Mother, that’s what you always wanted, wasn’t it now?
Walls thrumming like a bass drum, so loud you clap your haha
hands over your hard ears. No one was listening anyway.
It’s all a joke, right? Words dripping like Yorkshire pudding,
words gone muddy and blurred, words gone sour and covered with sweat.
You want to shout, “Cover yourself! Be decent, why don’t you?”
but it comes out wrong, “Commander Cody, the cover band!
I think that’s enough, isn’t it? After all, no one cares
what you call it, as long as it has a great beat. Let’s dance.

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4 responses to “Erosion of Poetry

  1. Some what ironic for a poem “words do not matter as long as it has a great beat”. Was a nice way to start the day.

  2. Only took me 30 days to get one ๐Ÿ˜‰

  3. Oh, no, no, no, Bridget! This one actually had a specific message I was trying to get across, and it was a tad subtle. Whereas the others were more inward than outward projected, and it wasn’t that you didn’t get them as that you interpreted them thru the lens of your own experience, and I thru mine. The ones that were so internal should not have been read by others as written in my heart. And I learn so much from seeing other people’s views. ๐Ÿ™‚

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