a poem for my room and the four dolls on that card and the self and the windowpane

four dolls

chipped on a red card,

glued to it fiercely

and then stapled with a thousand pins.

(cant move,are contented being cemented)

All four dressed in snow,

paper limbed and

their hearts  obviously are papery too,

if he made any while he was making you

and your artificial rinse brown hair,

O,yes he made you for me last Valentine,

cutting you out of chart,

even these three beaded hair ponies

on eachside aren't real

or your eyes staring out,

out of the window at red Geranium flowers.

Dollies,you depress me,

you depress me awfully lot

and poetry depresses me too. 

Reviews

[.]

. it's okay ... depression is not the enemy ... the throttling of the freedom of expression is ... in my humble opinion of course ...

. this poem is brilliantly written ... you are immensely gifted ...

[Jibey]

Awww! Too often the pleasure of yesterday turns into the tawdry decay of today... Clever turning of little things into profound thoughts...