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Meurtrière Doux


what good is the sun,
when I wander the streets
in the darkness of night.

what good is the garden
where callae do not bloom;
where the timid bluebonnets were
long ago slaughtered by barbarian weeds,
the arid ground peppered with butterfly dust.

what good are songs in a silent movie,
kisses to welded lips,
poems that merely ratify our loneliness.

what good is the elegant stationary, diaphanous
and perfumed, that bears the filigreed banner,
‘From the desk of * * *,’ and upon it, scripted
in a feminine flourish, your cherry-bomb vow:
‘I will come to you soon, very soon.
it’s just not convenient right now.’
your taser ‘love-note’ left at my door.

what good is that hollow regalia of your touch,
when the smallest flame will obliterate it…



Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
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