Monday, 22 November 2010

Human Traffic

Human Traffic

From this grey, rubber plinth and a medicinal blow
Cracked a thought (less) division: an old love lying low.
Insidious past-life scares dreams from the south
And plots this red course where weak men stop to go.

Love! – or waxy, yellow shame tightens the guts
Whilst malevolent water creeps up past my nuts.
This guilt in my mind and your honeycomb brain
Reveal to me nothing save reason to cut.

Soft cuts in a mid-corpse not too ready to die
Though fake blood streams past a gelatinous eye.
I’m not dead though still ripe for the worms and green birds
Who mock my illusion. Who needs words? Not I.

8 comments:

  1. A very sad piece, well written.
    Pamela

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thank you Pamela, you are probably the first person to have read this poem. And you liked it :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. "Though fake blood streams past a gelatinous eye" - what a fantastic line! This is so well written, on a sad topic. "This guilt in my mind and your honeycomb brain"........well expressed: two painful journeys. Keep writing!

    ReplyDelete
  4. An excellent piece of writing, Big Stew.

    I'm new to your blog too. I'll definitely be back to read more.

    Nice to meet you. :-)

    ReplyDelete
  5. your words are powerful.

    vivid imagery,

    ReplyDelete
  6. Soft cuts in a mid-corpse not too ready to die...'
    powerful iomagery you have...
    very heartfelt poem made me more aware...
    I enjoyed reading it.

    ReplyDelete