if you gaze into her window upon any evening
(of which i cordially invite you to do my 1)
you will see a staggering sea of stranded wife
who say ' oh lord ' ' oh god ' ' oh my ' ' oh mum ' '
as if each breath is a spiky star as if ]
the blue around her art & black in her heart
(the whole town knows she is falling apart )
is to say a yes my unmoved mover its now
as she sobs in the whiskybottle
and puts all her frustration into hold down the throttle
& she twists and she spins and she lets up the clutch
& she passes the pastures and dirt so much
like a engine she sounds. like a metal piano
(my heart it pounds as i reach my whole hand out
and she takes it and holds it and solemnly sighs
and somewhere in the whole wide worldv)= her everything dies
Last edited by skagitup at Nov 19, 2009,
The confusion that is hers is done well with the punctuation blasphemy, and not everything is what it seems - we learned that long ago but it bears to be repeated now and then. The severe lack of care, structure, and everything that makes sense to the eye, to me, it's a blow to logic right where it hurts, with rhymes and emotion is more orderly sometimes.

I really like this, and it took no effort, but all the exertion in your heart, I think, and there is gratitude for that, somewhere.