Gerunds
'We are no fragile poets, ' he said
sipping panaceas;
no,
we bleed in these bloody times.'
Our descriptors screech-
show calluses.
Our gerunds
are heavy-laden,
participled
and unrelieved.
In our time
we've had sex
with the dark and delicious.
Our tiny lusts are autographed
on our eyelids.
We have ridden the night bull
and kissed cold similes
licked razor blades,
cut ourselves.
Our body linings
have slipped to edges-
scabs removed-
our scars exposed.
Our loves have been tattooed
on our foreheads and we consume
what we love best.
We've known villainous reprieves-
raw extremes.
We've seen our low expectations
sucked dry;
our joyless roses decline to bloom;
we have seen steeled excusings,
blatant excrescences
resent me's,
poxed regrets,
vampire ideologies,
deeply cutting debaucheries
and Unspeakeries.
We've had
our wisdom wrung
from emotion's sponge;
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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