memo to self:
between bread and potatoes,
there is famine -
love is non specific
and only gnaws the hole
inside - grey mice infest
my gut and squeak -
a nest of teeth and claws,
of paper ripped
from yesterday's cold chips,
of fur
torn from their small breasts -
small hearts
that cannot bear the cold -
oh, yes: matches and a pint of milk
Comments
lenchenelf | January 7, 2010 - 21:22
Ruddy fantastic, works so well, becomes a personalised internal monologue as it's read. atb Lena x
Beeme | January 8, 2010 - 11:34
A wonderful poem, I like the sudden jolt back to reality at the end.
Beeme xx