deepundergroundpoetry.com
The motel song
Oh! They just come and go
like unfriendly heat rashes
they nudge-nibble-neglect
and cry and crib and sob
and flail and wail and scream
while you look at them rocking slowly
on the cane chair with a pained smile
they hurl and hit and tear and shread
the aquarium dies and the fish leap
to death-with blank black eyes
and still they fling and fall and fumble
they ask answers-they call names
crumpled paper balls on the floor
give you company until the storm subsides
'Its over', comes the reply-final as death
you can't laugh-you can't clap
you can't cry-you can't die
you are just a trapped verse
in the Grimoire
and they are the jay birds
no sooner than one leaves.
the others sniff you
with your sores and indifference
and constant tapping of the keys
with running showers and sobs post midnight
your loneliness spreads like a plague
and there would be a knock in the morning
someone would ask if you would have some books
nothing in particular-of course
and there would be a hopeful smile
it's a circle which would catch itself
grabbing its own tail
and then the circle will end
till then there would be
smiles-sobs-sniffles
and there would be
knocks-knickers
groans-purple bruises-soiled sheets
scratches-sore bodies-breathlessness
Then one day the mirror stares back at them
that day your tapping would cease
you would hit a block-it would be a black out
and you would be a puppet with no strings
they would wreck hell and storm away
the neverending sequence in which
not being able to love fully
they will always believe your love to be
incomplete.
like unfriendly heat rashes
they nudge-nibble-neglect
and cry and crib and sob
and flail and wail and scream
while you look at them rocking slowly
on the cane chair with a pained smile
they hurl and hit and tear and shread
the aquarium dies and the fish leap
to death-with blank black eyes
and still they fling and fall and fumble
they ask answers-they call names
crumpled paper balls on the floor
give you company until the storm subsides
'Its over', comes the reply-final as death
you can't laugh-you can't clap
you can't cry-you can't die
you are just a trapped verse
in the Grimoire
and they are the jay birds
no sooner than one leaves.
the others sniff you
with your sores and indifference
and constant tapping of the keys
with running showers and sobs post midnight
your loneliness spreads like a plague
and there would be a knock in the morning
someone would ask if you would have some books
nothing in particular-of course
and there would be a hopeful smile
it's a circle which would catch itself
grabbing its own tail
and then the circle will end
till then there would be
smiles-sobs-sniffles
and there would be
knocks-knickers
groans-purple bruises-soiled sheets
scratches-sore bodies-breathlessness
Then one day the mirror stares back at them
that day your tapping would cease
you would hit a block-it would be a black out
and you would be a puppet with no strings
they would wreck hell and storm away
the neverending sequence in which
not being able to love fully
they will always believe your love to be
incomplete.
Published 8th Nov 2011
| Edited 18th Feb 2012
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Anonymous
8th Nov 2011 7:29pm
Whitewand6,
This speaks to me on so many levels...from the "unfriendly heat rash" to " asking answers". Love the "circle grabbing it's own tail" and all the way to the very end where "They will always believe your love to be Incomplete". Awesome!
tornado
This speaks to me on so many levels...from the "unfriendly heat rash" to " asking answers". Love the "circle grabbing it's own tail" and all the way to the very end where "They will always believe your love to be Incomplete". Awesome!
tornado
8th Nov 2011 7:48pm
13th Jun 2012 10:20pm
14th Jun 2012 12:57pm
