Friday, March 20, 2020

Caught By The Short and Curlys


Contemptuous look from my reflection
provides all the recommended 
daily dosage of self derision, 
or in other words
just desserts, let it all come crashing down; 
I’ve fucked-up, 
again.

(A feral 
earring. Confirmation artefact; hallmarked 
proof of my deceit.)
Circumstantial archaeology and gossip. 

She was such a small mistake, 
a sluttish little size eight. 
Let’s talk about this.  Please.

There’s vengeance in those dagger sharp eyes 
honed and Maybelline underlined.  Lashes flick-whip. 
Tirades of obscenities from lush kissable lips, 
then I face the cold shoulder as if straight from the fridge 
(isn’t that an omen about serving revenge). 

In the pit of your silence; 
I stumble,
fall head long onto broken promises. 
Onto words that cut, that slice,
that hang in the air like a damning curse.
I’m dangling 

by my own sweet nothings.


© 2007  by P.A.Levy
First published by Kerouac's Dog

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