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Amanda Earl

Free Poetry For freepoetryfor.blogspot.com

Amanda Earl

Free Poetry For freepoetryfor.blogspot.com

pocket full of grief

pocket full of grief

he awoke to the clatter of bones the skeletons were dancing again he smelled the sweet pecan pie imagined the flakey crust the table cloth was red & white checked on the ground in front of the tombstone the graveyard covered w/ drumsticks & empty cartons of potato salad the mardi gras band played o when the saints all according to his instruction now he could rest

discarded lilies litter cemeteries worms make their way down to fresh dug graves the muck is pock marked with rain paper white poplars shed desiccated bark beetled bodied matte black umbrellas still in the sleet the earth is always in some state of decay the scent of grief is putrid

he awoke to the clatter of bones the skeletons were dancing again he smelled the sweet pecan pie imagined the flakey crust the table cloth was red & white checked on the ground in front of the tombstone the graveyard covered w/ drumsticks & empty cartons of potato salad the mardi gras band played o when the saints all according to his instruction now he could rest

discarded lilies litter cemeteries worms make their way down to fresh dug graves the muck is pock marked with rain paper white poplars shed desiccated bark beetled bodied matte black umbrellas still in the sleet the earth is always in some state of decay the scent of grief is putrid

after the car crash blood stains broken glass drivers side dented front door busted tail light vinyl seat ripped open, gutted caved in roof a blazing horn corpses the air still & white

when someone dies you can feel them for a while & then they go somewhere ancient on the cave walls they become a red animal on the seafloor they are prehistoric fish in the air they are sand on the wind & dust on wing of crows

after the car crash blood stains broken glass drivers side dented front door busted tail light vinyl seat ripped open, gutted caved in roof a blazing horn corpses the air still & white

when someone dies you can feel them for a while & then they go somewhere ancient on the cave walls they become a red animal on the seafloor they are prehistoric fish in the air they are sand on the wind & dust on wing of crows

the condemned man was doomed to die at midnight they said in the papers. hed chosen death by lethal injection. he murdered babies in their hospital beds. their ghosts waited at the scene just in time he closed his eyes but couldnt prevent himself from hearing the sounds of all those mournful shrieks

the cortege moved thru the city Victor Hugo est mort said the crowd threw roses against the wood of his coffin crumpled pages of Notre-Dame de Paris to throw at Esmereldas ghost sang librettos beneath the Arc hurled themselves at the tomb of the unknown soldier Victor Hugo est mort, mes amis, il est mort

the condemned man was doomed to die at midnight they said in the papers. hed chosen death by lethal injection. he murdered babies in their hospital beds. their ghosts waited at the scene just in time he closed his eyes but couldnt prevent himself from hearing the sounds of all those mournful shrieks

the cortege moved thru the city Victor Hugo est mort said the crowd threw roses against the wood of his coffin crumpled pages of Notre-Dame de Paris to throw at Esmereldas ghost sang librettos beneath the Arc hurled themselves at the tomb of the unknown soldier Victor Hugo est mort, mes amis, il est mort

fUneRealisms obsequious hand shakes smiles that dont reach requiescat in pace trite phrases abt heavn flower arrangements a shovel the hard earth lowering the body down

Mathilde always thought she looked good in black. She donned her crepe dress and long black gloves. Sprayed herself with a little Chanel No 5. Dotted a mole above the right corner of her upper lip. Put on a wide-brimmed hat with a gauzy black veil. Her skin never did well in the sun. Got blotchy. She was ready. Loaded the gun. Looked in the mirror & fired.

fUneRealisms obsequious hand shakes smiles that dont reach requiescat in pace trite phrases abt heavn flower arrangements a shovel the hard earth lowering the body down

Mathilde always thought she looked good in black. She donned her crepe dress and long black gloves. Sprayed herself with a little Chanel No 5. Dotted a mole above the right corner of her upper lip. Put on a wide-brimmed hat with a gauzy black veil. Her skin never did well in the sun. Got blotchy. She was ready. Loaded the gun. Looked in the mirror & fired.

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