This room which reverberates
An unholy stutter
These four walls
A gutteral chutter
From the sky tinged the colour of jade
We are in the belly of the beast-
And it is purely ornamental
Like the jewels hanging from her hips
Like a pucker on her lips
Like the gently placèd clips
Like her absentminded quips
Like her second round of sip
Like her automated script
a shackle on her skinned wrist
The books that decorate these walls
Of which i count just four
Sit untouched, unteathered
Their bindings virgin leather
But i will take them, yes i will take them
I will dirty them, rip them,
Kiss them to shreds
Let this sin that you stay beating
Be my guide through this uncertain fissure
That before i saw no way out of
I will take what is mine
The words that are mine
That sat in my jaw like sour limes
That scream:
LET ME SPEAK
Let me say
What ought to be said
The freedom of these words mean nothing at all if you dont teach the girls to use them
Teach the boys to understand them
Teach these words and all their sentences That end in ways that do not stay
Upon their page but rather tether you
Like the cord of a newly born babe
Invoke these firelit dreamers
Who parade along the earth
And give just as they take
The words they learn
And the songs they make
That replaces this stutter
That visceral chutter
With a sweet unending rhyme.
YOU ARE READING
Marmalade arcade
PoetryA cabinet of curiosity While not incredibly interesting I can promise you a story.
