I can't hold down a job any more
you have swallowed me with your lips of sawdust

I can't go to work
because you stole the moon

I didn't know a pair of jeans could hold galaxies so well
so wet, the moon now.

I'm going to cut you up into little pieces, because I love you.
It's going to take a long time, but it will definitely be worth it
Because then I can go to work.

I want to rest the ball of my foot on the moon. Balance.

Don't look at me like that.
The last thing I will eat are your chandelier eyes.


Anonymous said...

Oh my, oh me... um sorry - didn't mean to steal it. Here's your moon back. Now get to work!

martin marriott said...

Ah, raven, if only it was that simple...

Anonymous said...

True - true. I'm not sure what to do with those swallowing lips of sawdust. I can give back a stolen moon, but I can't undo a swallowing.

martin marriott said...

Raven, anyone who approachs poetry with any poetic sensibility of their own knows that moons can and can't be given back, swallowings can be both done and un-done, that poetically everything is possible and impossible. You are a philistine, an American Pragmatist. Yes, I know you don't know what pragmatism means. And yes, I know you won't bother to find out. Your flippant, lazy comments are out of place on this blog. Stop stalking me. Because that's what you are doing. Leave me alone. I have zero interest in you.

Facebook Badge