Saturday, 12 February 2011

Locked In Syndrome

My tight eyes,
Are my hands and and my un-sex,
My fist clenched dribble language,
And my screeching banshee heart.
A stick thin snigger of benefit flesh,
Though never once choked on the gloop-food
Squeezed through the hole in my face,
Where a wired voice is strangled silent.

The second he opens his eyes,
He looks at the telly,
Turns to find last night's curry,
Which he starts eating,
Cursing last night's bad luck.
He didn't get a fuck,
And spent all his giro,
In a nightclub where no one could hear him.
The electronic sounds were too loud.

5 comments:

  1. beautiful ...

    Glad to have you share with potluck.
    A++

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  2. Hello, Thanks for the love to Poetry Potluck! You Rock!

    Awards 4 Poetry Potluck Week 22, Enjoy!

    Your contribution means a world to us, Happy Thursday!
    See you next time!
    xoxox

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  3. placing your link to Jingle Poetry blog roll within days...

    welcome join poets rally today,
    one free verse, visit 18 poets by next Wednesday, have fun.

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  4. very beautifully written. know about paralysed people can communicate with the change in the size of pupil.

    ReplyDelete