Red Litmus strings for what has been done.
There is no choice between one and the other.
I write my lines in grids across your back
As you walk the cobbled streets
With she, who meant nothing.
Play speed-moves on the squares of welts.
Knight moves no longer to protect the Queen.
She is slumped over the elbows of herself
Beheaded temples in the palms of honest hands,
And when I turn her to look deep into dying eyes
I am again the pawn, one square step after the other, forward,
Sacrificed anytime; or to walk, wake forlorn on the end line
Looking like a little bishop, begging,
To be transformed.
Comments
artisus | November 28, 2007 - 15:32
I think you have created an extremely vivid poem, especially the second stanza, which is more mature poetically speaking than the first, although the first is more solid (perhaps too cryptically solid?). However, they are compatible with each other. Hope my comment makes sense. I enjoyed the read. xx
littleditty | November 28, 2007 - 15:43
oh thanks - i am a bit typsy nic - i shouldnt be driving...i think this makes a lot of sense what you have said, but i will think about this seriously later - i wasnt sure about this one at all...xx