Wednesday, June 13, 2007

the hollow heart

and i wanted to be
beautiful

i wanted to dream

not pollock but picasso

not christ but pilate

childrens' hands cut off
by soldiers and left
in the streets

leaves falling
from a pale blue sky

words like food

like drugs and
every poem a needle

every priest hung

your god washed clean and
your crosses pulled apart
and the crows as they
picked at the bones

the bones as they
grew up from the soil

your flesh like religion in
those last perfect days

3 comments:

Andrew David said...

This poem, to me, is extremely powerful. I enjoyed reading it immensely. You have a sharp eye for creating lasting images, and playing on the various contexts of human emotion.

I especially enjoy the lines:

"your god washed clean and
your crosses pulled apart
and the crows as they
picked at the bones"

If you see this, please get in contact with me @ andrewking.adk@gmail.com. I've tried to shoot you an email before, but it won't deliver it to your address. I think we would have a lot to talk about.

Peace,

Andrew David King
http://andrewdavidking.blogspot.com

Curt said...

I'm going to try to reach you thru other means, but I'd love to hear from you....

How are things?

Curt

sarah jane said...

Are you a published poet? I would like to buy a book of your poetry. It is rare for me to read something that has such immediate visceral impact> if your are published, I'd like to buy a book to support you or rather to support me. SJ