Poetry Corner

poetry corner

t h E s u C k i n G - s U i T

t h E  s u C k i n G - s U i T

tHerE aRe seRpeNtinE worDs
thaT sliP inTo thE shaTTered souL – 
theY loDgE theRe,
theY feSteR.
thEsE woRdS arE 
baRbeD  wiTh sInIsteR siGniFicanCe –
traIneD anD AimeD 
aT thE qUiVerinG inSecURitY,
thaT coWerS dEEP witHiN.


aS I sliP oFF mY suCkinG-sUiT
anD coLLapSe,
pinK anD naKeD
inTo thaT reCtanGlE caLLeD beD –
soMeTimeS saNctUarY,
soMeTimeS priSoN;
thiS niGhT a brEEdinG-grOuNd foR thE maGGotS iN mY miNd
anD anXieTieS taUnT anD teAsE anD naG,
thiS duLL paiN perPetRateD
bY thE enGlisH laNguAgE;
thuS thE feRRiS-whEEl oF neUrOsiS
staRtS tO sPiN
wiThiN wiThiN wiThiN –
theSe atOmS
mY elEcTriC souL
deCayS anD foLdS beCominG
eaSy preY
foR thE teRRoRs oF thE niGhT
thaT waiT tO griN inSiDious.


moRninG coMeS
I risE uNreFreSheD,
foR I haVe beeN daNciNg aLL niGht
wiTh deSpaiR –
I puLL oN thE taTTerEd reMaiNs oF mY suCkinG-sUiT
anD paSS anoTheR daY iN fruiTleSS salVatioN-seaRch,
a duLL, liMpinG, hoPeleSS tasK;
roaMinG aiMleSSlY
aiMinG roaMleSSlY.

Ben Browton – tMx 24 – 04/06
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