The People

Starved out of politeness, cockroach-kicked feet
walk across a blue night.
My lungs are stuck together, breathing in
radiation from the hot air
blown in my face.

The people, the people glow
white teeth at every camera. I see
the teapot boiling,
steam rising,
whistle blowing….

my ears ring out electric chords,
far from the classic, ghostly shadow
that sprawl across my nerves
when they start to shiver.

They eat very little,
or a lot, or they drink
or not,
or they lie and mispronounce their own
names on purpose and move around mountains
blending in with the tones of the town.

These people seem largely designed, I
walk on needles. I am little and not
proportionate. I dream about
ages, and eggs and other meals
that are not enough on their own.

Is anyone? Enough with just their teeth and
their camera and light?
“She’s only crazy,” says my mother.
And the hills are long monsters leaking
into my brain. I’m dizzy
and distorted. This image.
This image set up in sanity, or not.

8 thoughts on “The People

  1. I love this, sweetie…

    I do want to ask, and if I give insult I am deeply sorry, as I so often will use homonym words to help the meanings of the metaphors hop and skip.

    When you used the word “cords”…did you intend “chords”?

    Regardless, I loved the poem and it reads so well underneath my fingers as braille of the soul

  2. Maggie Mae

    You’ve done it again, my dear. You’ve written my soul, right out loud. When you write your own soul, it seems to touch every other….

    Love you; even if you didn’t write such beautiful poetry, I think your spirit would demand that from me, and I believe in telling those for whom we feel such a connection….

    Thanks…. Gonna steal this one for tomorrow’s post…


  3. Pingback: Look, Mama! Billy’s nictating again!…. | gigoid

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