Shared in Nexus The Sunday Whirl #219

White pillows at night descend.
Pain sounds its celestial sorcery;
absent silence.
Breasts,
glass,
wind,
the mirage that returns
because there’s twilight.

I don’t cry
because there’s no fire,
no grief masturbation,
no dilation to raise my second thought,
neither hanged nor dead dog,
neither bombastic, nor Jesus, nor father, nor virgin.

But I don’t think much about the unreality of things
they’re just dust shared in nexus.
Death for a woman is transparent
it’s male and bandaged.

Someday we’ll greet all our fans with gestures
superstitious and pale.

Advertisements

5 responses to “Shared in Nexus The Sunday Whirl #219

  1. Dreams are for those who sing with words in color

  2. The grief in your piece is palatable. Each day, brings something unknown before…

  3. But I don’t think much about the unreality of things
    they’re just dust shared in nexus.

    One should not be dragged down by insignificant episodes, true enough Pamelita!

    Hank

  4. The fire to cry…when we lose that we truly are in dark days..numb..burying and bandaging ourselves before someone gets there first…and yet there is fire in your poem…I find that courageous..and seeringly honest..best wishes to you

  5. I am so sad and I am so sorry for not visiting.

I appreciate all comments.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s