Monday, May 24, 2010

I'm Still Holding Up The Sky For You

 By Mary Meriam

I’m still here holding up the sky for you
Bawling this heart-to-heart goodbye for you

I’m still the child who cooks the stony stew
The chickadee who learned to fly for you

She looks so rich, her face so fresh and new
You’re more than friends, I catch her sigh for you

Do I sound bitter? Am I green or blue?
Don’t leave again! Don’t make me cry for you!

I send some poems to the Screw Review
I sit around and wait and die for you

The marvel of my muse is constant, true
With dedicated lust, I try for you

Because it had been a while since I'd found a piece of simple, direct, formal verse that I like.
This, I found on this literary journal.

So what's up. I have many boils on my body. The mammoth one inside my nostril bled itself out like a lover, and that is the only time it acted like one anyway. I am an angry volcano that Just Cannot Erupt. Incapable of  what should be my natural course of action, I fume and boil over and what simmers inside of me possibly finds vents on my slope and then there's little amounts of poison oozing out intermittently but then it just Keeps Happening, Goddammit. 

Start wearing Purple, wearing Purple.
Start wearing Purple for me now?

1 comment:

Deeganto said...

mammoth boils in your nostril

"Start wearing purple" makes me nostalgic.
About the times on orkut.
Because that's when you linked it to me.

I just read "about" aloud in a scottish accent.