Silence

The three a.m. slit

of recognition, switchblade

slice across the veins

 

sharpening senses to

the umbeset of Prufrock

bleeding out life’s oomph

 

bit by bit, bite by

bite is more than any love

was meant to endure.

 

If I bled as much

on you as on the blank pages,

perhaps dawn unfolds

 

like a repenting

rose unfurls in the first light

of a spring morning

 

and we’d have no more

need for these mid-night lettings.

I love you -- switchblade be damned. 

Ken e Bujold

Reviews

[W. Barrett Munn]

This is quite lovely in its rhythm and mudicality. I like the metaphor carried from stanza one to the end.
Really nicely done.

Winston

[FGFRANKLIN]

I too, have measured out my life with coffee spoons. Perhaps the bleeding heart will find its bandage in scar tissue both tender and tough. But it's always a reminder of older wounds. I enjoyed the read. F.

[Ken e Bujold]

thanks F. here's hoping peeps don't go reading as if autobiographical. Experimenting with Japanese forms, in modern English verse. Title came first. From that riff flowed as it would. 2nd v locked it all in place. Japanese traditional form, TS Eliot imagism at heart.

[FGFRANKLIN]

I laugh that some readers take every piece as a sort of personal confession. I mean I'm sure a lot of verse gets written by emotional emesis but not everything is a personal purge. Imagine someone thinking Stephen King hung out with killer clowns and a giant rabid dog. It's funny. I'm not opposed to personal vents or crying jags if it produces a good write but it seems there's always those who demand a pound of flesh with every write. That would be just too exhausting for me.