You ape my bones
with your humpbacked muse.
I am buried under the glass
of all the mirrors I tried
to cut into reflections
I could never carry.
I stare at the twisted glory
traveling up and down your words,
and I find mine are grossly inadequate.
Every haunting needs a host
so I will slip between your ribs
where the moan needs ink.
If there is nothing new under the sun,
you can’t quibble about harvesting.
What’s yours is mine.
My cup is full…Yours is empty.
I can turn your art into gold
while feeding you pennies.
Comments
Anna :o]
so I will slip between your ribs
where the moan needs ink.
If there is nothing new under the sun,
you can’t quibble about harvesting.
- these stanzas and lines are stellar!
It's such an interesting piece, many layered, because as you've noted, you're thoughts turned to exploitation, and you've covered, discovered and probed beyond one specific aspect or medium. This resonates in regards to all human behaviours and relationships. It's rather loaded, and forcefully demands an audience - and a response.
We are never fair to ourselves in that bargain.
Theft is definitely part of art. Whether wrong
or right.
the mirrors cut into reflections you are unable to carry
and
the haunting needing a host, slip between the ribs/ink
stanzas are definitely inspired writing, Susie.
so I will slip between your ribs
where the moan needs ink.
Perfect lines!
..