02.03:033
AVERIL BONES
Pile Up
Fit for a princess
with her prickly pea
or a hundred bedded strumpets
and their sailors sprung
lithe with fiery life,
drunk on enthusiasm.
Cross-hatched by quick love,
bodies lay memory on memory,
the weight of which will crush
metal coils called comfort,
so that even rats leave home
in search of something more
than sex and mattresses for food.
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With 'Pile Up' we begin a new series of poems from Averil Bones. These are poems breathtakingly macabre and beautiful in their focused observations of the human condition. We all give blood for coin; pile up or 'notch our belts' with love; we are all devouring or repulsing; and the deserts of our personal wastelands are all too often invaded by others. We seem, all of us, to be suffering. --jh
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Poets
Parts
02.03
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028
029
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033
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