Some verse.

[smokingboot]

Not very good verse this time - I am better at stories than poetry, so where this comes from or why I bother, I don't know. It just arrived.





‘Speak to me,’ he cried, and shook me upside down
until my limbs flapped helpless, and he watched
to see if I, made from tattoos of thought,
would slip forward unsheathed and undisguised.

He threw me into the air, up,up!
My spine stayed straight,
I tried to fly and for a moment, could.
but then I fell, and touched the water.

This then, was when I paled and ran,
from deeps that flood, from ink that bleeds and weeps;
tears* gathered in my skin until
it tore softly from me, and scattered me
to time and tide, to loss and fate and fade.

He picked me up again, heat now his tool.
I stiffened as he touched my brittle skin,
caressed my back, cracked, and at words
unformed, deformed, repatched, reformed,
he gazes awed, at ideas once well worn,
writing askew and so both old and new.

The thought most loved is that least understood.



I was thinking of cross-posting this to just_writing but something in me balks. I don't know why - I have felt as though I should put something there, as I am ready to offer my comments and criticisms. And this, unlike my stories, is not so precious a part of me that I can't bear it to be mauled.

So I tried. And realise I haven't a clue how to cross post. I'm taking it as a no-no from my backbrain.

*note to self: tears as in weeping, not tears as in ripping, or it makes 'tore' in the next line redundant. Keep it for the pun.