Frozen are the arms of anticipation
how quickly does ice turn into rust?
Please tell me that your eyes are pearls
anchored to every tanker ever sunk,
my horizon is becoming narrower
in the wake of every day
Just returned from the coast
and how the Autumn chill was chloroform
to every dream buried under sand –
skeleton choir sings death’drift lullably
I won’t sleep until I see you naked
The men with expensive metal detectors
couldn’t have found the silver I was seeking
Did Fox News ever tell you
how grief sells newspapers?
It may have been Disney who drew
my cartoon heart inside your dress
It will only be desire
which releases animal from zoo,
tell the beach it is not a hymn.
come poet with me
and then…
hello dearest Rob wowee that’s quite a write I loved the ending ❤️
so kind brenda, thank you x
Rob, your poem is like a fever dream. I was instantly gripped by the desperate longing and brutal cynicism, and I loved the image of the Autumn chill being “chloroform to every dream buried under sand.” The sudden “Fox News” line completely took me off guard, but I found its cynical, real-world punch hilarious amidst the rawness. It’s a relentless plea – a cinematic scramble toward desire. Unforgettable.
Slip inside my dreams Roma and place cinema scripts upon my skin. I could Sunday scribble a thousand words, but in the interest of public decency, I won’t