OKay,
she said,
Now,
the deal
is,
she said
This
she said;
What
What was it
again?
Oh, yes,
she said,
the gyre,
she said,
the year
she said,
i was
Born
she said;
or
so they
tell
me,
she said;
born a
cohort
not a
concubine
WTF????
oh
oh
yes
oh
yes.
There are no
dogs
of memory;
dogs
have no
memory;
dogs
have only
heart
and
soul
and
pain;
ThreeHundred
pairs
of pain;
cut
with scissors,
(Pinking Shears?)
a clean cruel
cut
that will not
count
when lights are
out and cries are
muffled and the
only
remembrance
is the silent, sorrowful
scratch
of a pen, a
purple
pen.
You know, but
YOU
do not
know;
the guardian carpets
that burn
amber
to
gold
to
umber
to
lilac
to
bronze
to
blue;
lost lost lost lost
LOST
until the
dogs
re
call,
re
mind,
re
mem
ber
that
PAIN
is
stars stars stars stars,
nothing
but
stars, and only
One
Moon
and that
not even
Full
but
Half
‘til morning.
a
midst
the crunching light of
four
A.M.
when the
dogs
and the
lights
of Forever
move
beyond
tomorrow, and meaning is
lost
to
Nana’s prying
fingers
and the hot brown
Hissssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
from which No
One
is spared.
oh, leave me
Not
in this purgatory of
punishment without
pain;
free me free me FREE
ME
from
My
Self.
© s rogers 19 july 2012
