Friday, April 26, 2013

Do not drink black tea in the evening if you want to go to sleep. Some lessons never stick.

the end of the affair

dark syrup on each stair
a trail into the conservatory
where a stuck knife balances

feel the busted ankle
the skin a swimming bruise
over the damage
the slippery pain

clues in the carpet
cinders  shards  shredded pages
each one the same message
no  no  no  no  no

a brackish odor
lilies past their sell-by date
blackened persimmon
a jar of shoes with split tongues

wreckage slumped
overturned velvet chairs
their plush sags   twisted
innards shiny with bloat

door frames cocked crooked
hinges gape
a slick sea of broken books

lavender gown half gone
gloves matted with plum sauce
antherium droop in their beds
snow falls  melts  sticks


Ms. Moon said...

Oh god. And then I remember- you are a poet too. And what a poet. What images.

Radish King said...

there is so much here that made my breath catch in my throat and i am thankful to find a Coyote poem after a long thirst for them. this is gorgeous and wrenching. thank you thank you thank you.

beth coyote said...

Ms Moon - X

RK-you're welcome. XXX