deepundergroundpoetry.com
Sunglasses for us all, please
Too late to choose
The droning of a saint inside a brothel
The groaning of a brothel in a saint
The Sangre Real so bright and warm
The honeyed hints of loss
They try to paint their tombstones acid pink
They try to make their twisted faces wink
To pigeon hole themselves inside destruction
To eat their tails and fail to note the taste
The scale that broods
The switches sliding behind one way mirrors
All this yet to come for you and solace too
The ghosts do exist inside your ceiling;
Tapping on the rooftiles
Fleet-swift little monkeys play the violin
Tout le monde exist secretly together in our sin
Deceive the world? the world knows all
Play jester, feste, joker, fool, but not Macbeth
While lightning plays its games with you
Find cold pine-fresh comfort in tragedies
Mopped off the linoleum
Drearily, wearily,
with the last paper towel.
The droning of a saint inside a brothel
The groaning of a brothel in a saint
The Sangre Real so bright and warm
The honeyed hints of loss
They try to paint their tombstones acid pink
They try to make their twisted faces wink
To pigeon hole themselves inside destruction
To eat their tails and fail to note the taste
The scale that broods
The switches sliding behind one way mirrors
All this yet to come for you and solace too
The ghosts do exist inside your ceiling;
Tapping on the rooftiles
Fleet-swift little monkeys play the violin
Tout le monde exist secretly together in our sin
Deceive the world? the world knows all
Play jester, feste, joker, fool, but not Macbeth
While lightning plays its games with you
Find cold pine-fresh comfort in tragedies
Mopped off the linoleum
Drearily, wearily,
with the last paper towel.
Published 23rd Aug 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1
reading list entries 0
comments 1
reads 755
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Anonymous
13th Sep 2012 11:55am
This felt almost ethereal as I read it. That's what I enjoy most about poems like this. It's as if at times I think I might have a grasp on some kind of interpretation and then something comes out of the corner and smacks me around.
Some amazing imagery that I enjoyed as well:
"Fleet-swift little monkeys play the violin
Tout le monde exist secretly together in our sin
Deceive the world? the world knows all "
and this couplet:
"They try to paint their tombstones acid pink
They try to make their twisted faces wink "
It felt as if I should be getting some kind of heretical sense from these words, which is exactly how I felt through most of the poem.
Thanks for the read.
Some amazing imagery that I enjoyed as well:
"Fleet-swift little monkeys play the violin
Tout le monde exist secretly together in our sin
Deceive the world? the world knows all "
and this couplet:
"They try to paint their tombstones acid pink
They try to make their twisted faces wink "
It felt as if I should be getting some kind of heretical sense from these words, which is exactly how I felt through most of the poem.
Thanks for the read.
