This is an incoherent poem from my past.


A Plant is a Vegetable that has Stopped Growing

I'm scared again and blind.
The last part's OK. Supposed to wear makeup, but
I don't want to be here that long.
I can hold it
I can hold it
I can hold it 'til Monday.
But should I? So what if I miss a couple minutes out of a movie.
The suspense is killing me.
Sometimes I hate myself so.
And this thing unleashed in me.
Forces of life or death. Doors slamming.

So we had breakfast. It was epochal.
I talked and someone listened or pretended to.
Am I so down on myself. Barely coherent.
And this stooge in a hospital gown.
Can't fool Amy.
But I'm easy to fool. So they don't want to talk
over the high wall. What else is new?
Any conversation with the Devil would be over the high wall.
Keep proving that I can't see.
I don't fucking care anymore.
I don't care, but I might as well.
Magpies flitting.
All I've ever noticed.
Were the birds.
Solly, solly, solly. Very solly.

© 2006 Anne Westlund




Poetry by Anne Westlund
Read 902 times
Written on 2006-10-12 at 10:10

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