| "I had many things to write, but I will not with ink and pen write unto thee..." |
| POETRYrepairs v08.04:046 |
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![]() BACK | HOME SUBSCRIBE | --- copyright GYUKICS GABORGYUKICS GABOR Chrysalis A diabolically consolidated wasp's nest with a Woman as its resilient keeper was found in the Same woman's vertebrae during autopsy, The coroner seemed bathetic as he turgidly Drew his initials on the side of the nest In the rancid spine line to ensure his first right To this bouncing discovery. The woman's puffed up face showed aversion Regarding the intrusion into her cagey body, She was inclined to diminish the coroner's derogatory Invasion for she had been nurturing these Ferocious inhabitants of her nest with Complimentary attention, with Utter persuasion to let them maintain their Own proliferation by overlooking Flowers in dewy cemeteries, Jiving tactile grave diggers and as the primary goal of existence. Now, at present the woman's bony shell Is laid out in the morgue, with the Abandoned nest inside her waiting for the Final taxidermy. REPAIR: Concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; resort, frequent or habitual going; making one's way; to arrive; to dwell; to heal, to cure, to recover; to renew; (AND!) to fix to original condition. Oxford English Dictionary What is Your ANIMAL Spirit Guide |
| "Poetry endangers the established order in the soul." |
| poetryREpairs v08.04:046 |
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| ANDREW SANDON--- copyright ANDREW SANDON. www.ProfEssays.com provides professional writing assistance to students in all academic fields from high school to university. poetryREpairs.com welcomes essays on any topic related to poetry. |
| "Repair Your Mind...Read More Poetry!" |
| poetryrePAIRs v07.03:046 |
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| KIM WELLIVER Mr. Driesbach's Bath-Day "Don't get shirty with me!" I almost bray when he says it, tangle my tongue around the sound, screw my lips tight as he mouths words incongruous as the black & white celluloids, and plugged nickels from a decades dead boyhood. "Don't get shirty with me!" as though he can parse dignity from grandevity; puddled naked in his bathchair, seeking some indelible nobility from wattled neck-skin scrawny shank's mosaic of liver spots. I lower him, loose as a crumpled bag, into vapor and steaming water. Pink the milk-pallor of his sunken chest, the slack belly lapped over buttresses of pelvic bones, his flaccid penis in its sparse nest. Flares of a man twenty years gone spark in hard blue eyes, pulse his coda between lashless lid-blinks. His mouth works dry white phlegm, eats the gristle of age, the abasement of diapers & bathchairs, croaking naked against my starched breast "Don't you get shirty with me!" I mumble, "No sir,” soap his spine. --- copyright KIM WELLIVER. previously published on 'all the fine arts are species of poetry' |
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