deepundergroundpoetry.com
Husking Corn
why do I save them
the evidence
written records
of her torn soul`s
intended departure?
as testament?
artifact?
a disclaimer
shining approving light
towards my favor?
things like this
cant be explained
any more than finding
in my kid`s crib
a room temp ziti tray
she might have been
giving life the slip
but her baby
wouldnt go hungry
while her man dealt with apocalypse
or the night
I got home
just in time
to witness her painting
a huge vagina
it must have been
seven feet long
applied directly
to the kitchen floor
talk about anxiety to perform
but truth be told
pretty much any situation
can become the norm
once you weather initial storms
suicide management turns mundane as husking corn
damn, I used to bury
this truth
under super-pressurized layers
of imploding denial
so, how come I never destroyed the proof?
perhaps, whether she lived or died
this attempt
to transfer her self through writing
was the closest thing to a mirror
of her individuality, the essence of her life
whatever the reason
I continued finding farewell letters
tucked in books and tea boxes
like pot seeds in gatefold record jackets
long after she was "better"
compelled to compile
I`ll stumble across them
once in a while
like tonight
which prompted this trip down memory pain
and do I keep them under lock and key?
no! I`m as bad as she
they`re on the shelf,
in a notebook of drum-beats
waiting for the unfortunate browser to pick up and read
the evidence
written records
of her torn soul`s
intended departure?
as testament?
artifact?
a disclaimer
shining approving light
towards my favor?
things like this
cant be explained
any more than finding
in my kid`s crib
a room temp ziti tray
she might have been
giving life the slip
but her baby
wouldnt go hungry
while her man dealt with apocalypse
or the night
I got home
just in time
to witness her painting
a huge vagina
it must have been
seven feet long
applied directly
to the kitchen floor
talk about anxiety to perform
but truth be told
pretty much any situation
can become the norm
once you weather initial storms
suicide management turns mundane as husking corn
damn, I used to bury
this truth
under super-pressurized layers
of imploding denial
so, how come I never destroyed the proof?
perhaps, whether she lived or died
this attempt
to transfer her self through writing
was the closest thing to a mirror
of her individuality, the essence of her life
whatever the reason
I continued finding farewell letters
tucked in books and tea boxes
like pot seeds in gatefold record jackets
long after she was "better"
compelled to compile
I`ll stumble across them
once in a while
like tonight
which prompted this trip down memory pain
and do I keep them under lock and key?
no! I`m as bad as she
they`re on the shelf,
in a notebook of drum-beats
waiting for the unfortunate browser to pick up and read
Published 1st Mar 2013
| Edited 22nd Mar 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 8
reading list entries 1
comments 16
reads 993
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
1st Mar 2013 2:25am
great write,
that tired old saying..."those who forget the past....
and well buried pain is horrific to come back,
if expelled or shared, the energy is let loose that bound...better to run naked and free without cloaks ...the eye to ones past is a picture to reflect upon as triumph or misguided failures
that tired old saying..."those who forget the past....
and well buried pain is horrific to come back,
if expelled or shared, the energy is let loose that bound...better to run naked and free without cloaks ...the eye to ones past is a picture to reflect upon as triumph or misguided failures
1st Mar 2013 2:39am
1st Mar 2013 3:30am
Sometimes our voices don't have the tone of courage to say what our hearts need to. We tend to subconsciously expose in small clues what we are afraid to say or do. Almost a self-inflicted personal purgatory to keep hidden inside. :(
Regardless, beautifully penned! xoxoxoxo
Regardless, beautifully penned! xoxoxoxo
1st Mar 2013 5:34am
I crushed myself down into a fraction --
like a car at the wreckage yard ......
but I`m starting to slowly bloom again,
my Lady............
1st Mar 2013 11:58am
1st Mar 2013 3:40pm
thanks man!!!
yeah , Spring cometh ---
I gotta husk some weight off ! lolol
yeah , Spring cometh ---
I gotta husk some weight off ! lolol
1st Mar 2013 2:41pm
1st Mar 2013 3:41pm
After thirty plus years of obsessive reading, I find different aspects of the word to effect me differently on different days, depending on different moods. I read this last night because of the title. I was born on the edge of a cornfield. I know them well. Needless to say I was surprised at what I found. I know your thoughts well here too though. They resonate with me for different reasons, personal ones. But today, after letting the initial emotional shock pass, I can enjoy this for the style, and manner these words were written in as well. I will be putting this in my reading list. :)
1st Mar 2013 3:40pm
wow --- you humble me MG....
I appreciate your candor and the time you put into
your response....
I appreciate your candor and the time you put into
your response....
22nd Mar 2013 4:36am
that really is a delicately written and more delicate experience...told straight forward, with so much heart, and a heaviness that gets balanced by the narrators history of having to have to deal with it...i think its its pretty complicated stuff here that you presented very and enviably simply...glad I read it
note: kudos to Maggie and her shout out in the thread...that's why I love them threads
also, check "apocalypse" small typo I think
note: kudos to Maggie and her shout out in the thread...that's why I love them threads
also, check "apocalypse" small typo I think
22nd Mar 2013 4:58am
22nd Mar 2013 5:57am
22nd Mar 2013 7:17am
24th Mar 2013 1:35am
25th Mar 2013 1:57am
thanks for taking the time to express you have connected with my words,
peace,
alon
peace,
alon
