Strumming

[peter danielsen]

A sunset as hideous as a small lump of marmalade
is splashed into the horizon
and it bleeds from your fingers tearing the strings of the guitar
You stand in your living room with a longing
as useless as St. Peter’s Cathedral
or at least as the dome

The blood is flowing down your guitar
but you don’t really hurt
so you tear the strings
you let your hand lash down a plane
and the chord is out of tune
and reminds you of the fey loneliness
in the uncompromising parting
where a little truth trembled through
your ridiculous thread of a body

You hammer your hand against the steel of your guitar
and the pain makes everything darken
and you roar like an undrugged nerve
and the sun beams the last red howl over the fields
and the farmer goes away to shoot his dog
and the crows along the rose hedge turn the deaf ear to it all

[tinderella]

I loved this Cave-esque poem. The imagery was astounding. Perfect bedtime reading. I wonder what I will dream about tonight now?