LemonadeA Poem by Jack JosephSensuality and sinister foreboding- sensations, almost audible through bone and blood. Cracking and creaking, each rib snapping into a new position protecting and steadily compressing that which lays inside. Amidst all the real and imagined horror the beating thing and it's metaphorical spot in your mind hurt more than bone splintering and flesh peeling- they call it the blues they call it loss they call it heartbreak. No riff from scarred hands can wipe away the cold sweat that washes over in the middle of a hot, summers night. Sitting in a dirty, humid kitchen knuckles white, gripping a cool glass of foggy lemonade swallowing greedily ice an all deep into your soul but only citrus steam forms on the back of your eyeballs. It's not for you to cure or fight off- close your eyes let the deathly hands of grief drag you into the wave out with the tide That same beating thing protected by shattered bone and raw flesh will bring you back to dry land- eventually.
© 2010 Jack Joseph |
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1 Review Added on February 1, 2010 Last Updated on February 3, 2010 AuthorJack JosephLos Angeles, CAAboutI'm a writer, painter and cognitive science junky living in The City of Angels. I write poetry from the perspective of a bystander. I believe that there is beauty in pain and loss, a beauty that rival.. more..Writing
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