Sunday, November 11, 2012

Sunday Morning Poetry

Eating Poetry

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth.
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
The librarian does not believe what she sees.
Her eyes are sad and she walks with her hands in her dress.
The poems are gone.
The light is dim.
The dogs are on the basement stairs and coming up.
Their eyeballs roll,their blond legs burn like brush.
The poor librarian begins to stamp her feet and weep.
She does not understand.
When I get on my knees and lick her hand,she screams.
I am a new man.
I snarl at her and bark.
I romp with joy in the bookish dark.
~ Mark Strand


rachel awes said...

oh my gosh, relyn,
i think i just ate THIS poem.

Marilyn said...

Oh in some ways it is sort of scary almost like a werewolf feel to it, but oh to drool over words and poetry. How totally mesmerizing.

Jeanne said...

There are always flowers for those who want to see them.
~Henri Matisse

Love and hugs

Oldies, but Goodies