you see these shackles, I’m your slave
through clawed talks, razor pony tail, braid,
I just keep losing my way.
No ring, no fucking promised day,
like booted soldiers, I take what I’ve got, this’ll
be my shackles, see, I’m your slave
again, like smoke to dirty lungs I stay
on my cute gold filter chain, though I bristle,
I just keep losing my way.
your wolf canines, vampiric, spay
my dick, of my throat render gristle,
you see these shackles? I’m your slave,
a copy atop normative copy on the day
you find me, pillow-shaped, forested, little,
just losing my way.
I am bitched, tamed, collar flayed
and screaming, blind through spittle,
you see these shackles, I’m your slave.
Can you help me find my way?
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2007
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October
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- The Genius Genie
- (geta)
- Dodge Draft
- Other boys
- New Assignment, Punks
- Next Assignment! a borrowed poem of sorts:
- Person I Know Assignment Thing
- the fetishist dies in a new york bathroom
- An experiment: me, writing about actual people
- New Assignment: Pick a poem...any poem...
- The First topic, I'm catching up boys..
- LBPBG: Bendi's version
- LBPBG: Jon Version
- A Vaguely LPPBG Poem
- Experiment/Assignment #2
- Poem Experiment #1: Bendi's Version
- Why Writing a Thesis is so Hard
- Poem experiment #1, as assigned by Bendi
- So I shaved my head tonight...
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October
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4 comments:
It's funny how even in the strict restraints of the villanelle (which, Jon, you rebel you, stretched semi-generously) our individual styles still came through. Except mine, I think. Mine was just a rhyming cop-out. The slant rhyme of gristle and little was way cool by the by.
For the record, I didn't say "usual" style. I said "individual style." Meaning, I could tell it was a Jon villanelle from a Bendi villanelle. But if you had thrown those poems in with a bunch of other random stuff, I would never have guessed any of it.
gotcha. misunderstood / was randomly too attached to a JT villanelle. all apologies.
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