A Sonnet for a Saturday

Arrows

You are nothing but a clatter of bones in a tartan dressing gown
coughing up phlegm over the breakfast table.
You are nothing but a slithering of liver, lungs, kidneys, brain,
faithless heart pumping white crimson around and around.
You are nothing but a hundred billion neurons firing arrow
thoughts about yourself into a mist of grey.
You stab the butter knife in the marmalade.
I imagine stabbing it in your eye, watching your ego bleed out.

Then you look up and start describing a strange dream
you had last night about building a house from Plasticene.
As you turn your face and smile, morning sunbeams
blaze just below the curve of your cheek
bone, the place I like to kiss before we go to sleep
that tastes, so scrumptiously of tangerine.

 

470193CF-2031-4DF1-A389-13DE9E6A26AF

One thought on “A Sonnet for a Saturday

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s