What It Becomes

What it becomes.

 

What it becomes, when the world gets its hands

wrings the song to staccato

and hijacks the band.

 

What it becomes,

when the chick stumbles out

to the fox's slick jaws, chewed up so, so soon it can't know

what it was.

 

What it becomes,

when the curved flesh grows edges

the wrought iron, barbed wire

the commune, a prison

the flicker, a fire.

 

What it becomes

when it's already become

the fury, ar-senic, the foaming raccoon,

that one afternoon wanders up the front porch,

and bores into you

with dead hungry eyes.

 

What it becomes

when it's dead

and begs you with hot, heavy breaths,

to bring it, to bring it to

sweet life again.

 

What you become

when you limp toward the house

for the food and the warmth and the bodies

in there.

Reviews

[Frontier]

Wow! This is an amazing poem,

"that one afternoon wanders up the front porch,
and bores into you
with dead hungry eyes." - I loved this stanza, I could picture it in my mind, insane personification. I also like how the repeated "what it becomes" and at the end its "what you become", like you corroborate the reader subconscious identifying with it...that last stanza, left me breathless, much like the body you describe lol!

[I Am Svetlana]

The last stanza made me think of a homeless person as they limped up to a house. That's what I pictured at least, creepy! Most people would ask "what is 'it'"? But I would say that 'it' is whatever you picture in your mind with each stanza. 'It' is able to be many different things, who said it had to be just one?

[The Representative]

It has strong force - refrain writing. (The Representative has a good amount of it in it, to further make the point.)


"What it becomes" - good refrain.


That being said: do you know however what force has far more power...........time.





How's The Suburb-zone coming along? Time being power is why I ask.