MUSIC


ARTS



CULTURE
 

Home

Mission
Music
Concerts
DVD | Film
Stage | Dance
Poetry
Visual Arts
Interviews
Features
Stories
Books | Zines

Contributors

Newsletter
Links
Contact
Make A Donation
SEARCH
Archive

Free Downloads

Visit Us On Facebook


NO

by Bruce Weber

on the marble table
she
left
small
almost microscopic
granules
of cocaine.
no.
she quickly covered herself with kerosene
and asked her ex-husband to ignite her.
no.
on the roof she ate a sandwich
before spreading her wings
like an eagle
and
jumping.
no.
everyone considered her a piece of a puzzle
lost in the great chicago fire.
no.
the car.
the road.
the infinite rope
of a trail
of
impossible
promises.
no.
the heart falling flat on its face
like an off kilter tennis shot.
no.
the racket in the kitchen.
no.
the assumption that fell on the doorstep.
no.
the kleptomaniac who lives with memories
of a stolen diamond necklace.
no.
the hairs growing from her eyeball like in a painting by salvador dali.
no.
she's spinning out of the grasping fingertip reach
of a metaphor she's incapable of becoming
friendly
with.
no.
she's receding into the wall like an old woman in a painting by edouard vuilliard.
no.
her existence vanishing behind a dark comeuppance.
no.
the sea stretching out its welcome
like coleridge in the rhyme of the ancient mariner.
no.
when she stepped out of the house
her skin glowed
like she was radioactive.
no.
the people on the street buckled
like they had recently returned
from a sojourn
at the madame curie clinic.
no.
he was rapidly approaching the woman tied to the track.
no.
then after the sun had fallen into the sea
she slept like a storybook
in his arms
dreaming
of
springtime
and
honey.

 



(c)2008 - 2016 All contents copyrighted by AcousticLevitation.org. All contributors maintain individual copyrights for their works.