The Bombmaker, Minesweeper,
and Drunk dance
around a circle
side by side by side.
Pressing their luck,
tempting claymore fates,
they want to see if
proof really is in dismemberment.
Meanwhile, the Butcher, Baker,
and Insurance Salesman
mourn the plain lesson:
a thousand ways to leave your lover;
and not one to bring them
back, again.
But, such is life
for Ghosts and Bedbugs
that lurk in shadows,
revealed only in sideways glances of
razor scars and lovebites,
bloodstained memories of what's
gone...
what exists only as pain
in abstentia.
Dream homes and cloud castles
left dark and decaying,
over-grown and in disrepair...
What is lost,
if it was only imaginary?
5 comments:
Meanwhile, the Butcher, Baker,
and Insurance Salesman
mourn the plain lesson:
a thousand ways to leave your lover;
and not one to bring them
back, again.
You can add my name to that list...
There is an edge of yearning behind the cynical tone of this poem.
cynical tone? what cynical tone?
the line about "a thousand ways..." comes from a matthew good band song called "the bombmaker." i highly recommend them, as well as matt good's solo work. good tunes.
Ha! You're right... I should have said behind the sardonic tone...
PS. I think it was Paul Simon who said there were fifty ways to leave your lover...Just slip out the back, Jack...
But I'll check out Matt Good, because I like the last part of the lyric: not one to bring them back again. Thanks :)
you don't need to be coy, roy. so, technically, if you want to split hairs, i'm alluding to matt good's allusion to paul simon, yes. both songwriters use the number 50, i use 1000, because bigger numbers sound more dramatic. i point out matt good because, well, who hasn't heard of paul simon? thanks for coming back!
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