Northbound
The passenger seat is my stage
And the blurred tail lights my captive audience
The rain beats a gentle staccato
While the wiper blades are the strings.
This automative orchestra is out of time
And out of key to the melody,
But music has never been my strong point,
So I sing on anyway,
Your baritone is strong in the seat beside mine
And I am un-self-conscious of the notes I miss,
For the joy and the meaning are purer
Than a perfect harmony.
Day 19- nothing
Statuesque
Alabaster limbs, recumbent and refined
And veins of marble carry beauty and truth
Where blood is ugly.
Hear the hollow ringing where her heart should be
In perfect pale repose she beckons you
To sit and stare.
Those fragile fingers, strangely soft and scarred
Searching for the vast and simply honour
Of human touch.
But marble dust has seeped into your pores
And the gentle warmth of another human soul
Burns like fire.
Return then with your greedy eyes and vacant smile
To the bustling court of your untrue lover
On her pedestal.
A thousand men with lustful hearts return there too,
Each eager for a hurried glimpse of perfection
Shaped only in stone.
Metamorphosis
He held my skin,
The ragged edges where I burst forth
Still pink with residual heat.
Still pink with residual heat.
I lay there, chest heaving, and watched his gaze,
That momentary panic of decision making,
Before he tucked my skin under one arm
And tucked a blanket around me with the other
Then closed the door behind him,
I listened to his steps descend
And the distant whir of the disposal
As he fed my skin to the plumbing.
In five minutes he would return
Carrying a tray of tea, and water, and biscuits,
And stroke the downy soft expanse
Of my new skin.
