Pity—Poem

I know the sound of pity, the down
turned lip and the buttery voice drip
dripping off the ridges of the tongue;
the sallow tint to their slowly drawn
saccharine words.
but The weather’s too cold to die tonight
and I don’t want the watered down well
wishes from unused wells–I’ll drink
from the faucet alone.
I can hear the hollow howl of owls
in their woods on the edge
of the eleventh hour, so I wait
for that last moment that hangs
on their lips. They wait for that last
moment to offer their empty words made
from the whisp of feigned sentiment. so I
wait for ghosts to drag my limbs
into limbo where I can sleep this away
forever. Sleep away the heartache
of ghosts. Sleep away the loss
that might have been a blessing all along.

 

[

I know the sound of pity, the down
turned lip and the buttery voice drip
dripping off the ridges of tongue;
The weather’s too cold to die tonight
and I don’t want the well wishes down
unused wells–I’ll drink city water.
City girl in a country coffin so
make my tomb of steel and stilettos.
I can hear owl coo in their woods
on the edge of the eleventh hours,
so I wait for ghosts to drag my limbs
into limbo where I can sleep this
away forever.

written 2007-208ish

]

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