Friday, April 9, 2010

P.A.D from day 3

I'm out of clever and even semi-clever remarks, so here's the poem.

04/03/2010: Partly _____

Partly fiction

In the road
Between what is and what might be
You are my spread eagle massacre
Hot with blood of blamelessness
Open chest cavity, a leaky faucet
To shower my snowy gardenias
Helpless, I hum aloud
Mary, Mary, quite contrary…
My garden grows with blood of man
And little carcasses all in a row

My life is a fable
Where my garden is a metaphor
A storybook wherein I write the words
Because I decide
What’s fact
And what’s only partly fiction

But like a good gardener
My thumb is green
And I will sprout roots and tendrils
To surround you like a chrysalis
A metamorphosis
From which
You will never wake

No comments:

Post a Comment