poem: her worry down
forlorn vaudevillian seeksrumble pay, shasting off
the decks of newsense
& non: the segue that
counts is ever
the visual spleen. she
were never worried,
never she,
evering her worry
down the stream,
a calibrated tossy
filled with endbrime,
situated just east of
mercy, the mercy chance
down the lobline.
if it actuates,
be blessed, she said,
& we all followed
the maudlin dance,
fiddled our ways
to Sarah's hideaway
in the marshes
in the figment doom
in the stones
beneath the altar.
bended knee
is the possum's
quest; you
forgive, she
bemoans, we
all
shall wail.
Labels: hope rears
posted by murat11 at 1:51 PM
7 Comments:
I like this one. It is all folksy and down-South, a poor Northern girl like me just doesn't quite know what to do with it. It makes me smile. Off to more philosophy in verse...
Teresa: I was feeling all faux-Gaelic till the possum, but lingust/languist that you are, you will know that it's closer than an emotional skip across the pond between the Gaels and the SunBelters.
It was the vaudevillian and the marshes that gave it away. Tha mun git thee to the fens, laddie. (Which I actually think is Yorkshire, instead of Gael, but what do I know?)
Makes me smile, too. Would so much like to see that calibrated tossy/ filled with endbrime,/ situated just east of /mercy.
Anno: I think I had the old Mercy Hospital in New Orleans in mind; among other things, of course.
She do be one calibrated tossy, though; endbrime and all.
I like the newsense, endbrine, and lobline and evering worry down a stream and east of mercy - oh I just like it all. In Pensecola and so very glad to be out of the car!I will start evering tomorrow...
Dee: I can't remember: is Pensacola the final destination? Love that area, all the way east to Grayton Beach. Rest up, girl, and have loads of fun.
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