poetry critical

online poetry workshop

bill in my bonnet

the tables turned downunda,
my fresh-food poodle, numb at the bottom
of the whiskey glass–
how was i supposed to love you?
i left separation for the eggs;
mine were still coddled
but the bucket broke long ago–
that was your cue.
i cleaned you, yes, by the reservoir
in a basket weaved,
my lips pulled into apology
and your locks curled like a fiddlehead.
there was an awful draft in the north
after washing down the cow
and you wilted like a lettuce;
your shrivel hung loosely over my tits,
my thighs slung around your waist
like a boomerang.
you gathered all my lipsticks
and painted hell on your chest–
i couldn't tell if you were erogenous
or just sick–
but what you did to me
a flag tied to my bloodface,
piano legs dangling from your sick-knot
as you dunked your junk in my disease.
i still want you to cross the equator,
but i'll smash your monday face
every time you let your gourd down,
and you know,
i could spend every bleak winter
eroding my fist in your asshole.
it fucking hurts,

18 Oct 12

Rated 10 (10) by 2 users.
Active (2): 10
Inactive (0): 10

(define the words in this poem)
(90 more poems by this author)

(1 user considers this poem a favorite)

Add A Comment:
Enter the following text to post as unknown: captcha


it is divine.

there ain't an image nor a silk rope that you can't help but tie me down with.  or too. our hurts to smile with you ripping out the braces that keeps my brain from belting itself to a pony. or something
 — DeformedLion

have to do this of f my phone.  ugh. so annoyingjoy
 — DeformedLion

Oh sullen to be in wait for your homing.
I know how you loathe phone poeming so I am feeling delicious that you took the time to read my little honeybee even though you we're on the shitter.  

Best time really.

So glad you feel such divinity.  I actually worked on this, I cared for it tenderly, like a bebe.
Like you.
 — jenakajoffer

Perhaps its just me, but reading this made me feel like I just got a rim'job from someone with a 9" tongue.  Perhaps too much innuendo for me.  Moments were good, but too many layers.  Overload.  Sometimes it's better just to bang the drum, instead of beating around it?  
 — OldShoe

the poem reminds of being led around by the hand by a child who is excited to show you things:

"...and this is my dog rover, and here is my bedroom, and this is my swingset, and that's my pet rock, and here is my bike, and that's my younger brother but we don't have time to talk to him, and here is my doll collection, and the jigsaw puzzle i finished yesterday..."

without ever pausing long enough to allow anything to sink in, be enjoyed.

every tree is beautiful, but they are planted so densely as to make the forest become lost.  
 — unknown

thanks unk, maybe next time you take a walk in my forest you bring compass.

yeah, brain, i get you,
i know all the fat places but i think he likes my deep throat and i ain't ready to diet.
 — jenakajoffer

thanks unk, maybe next time you take walk in my forest you bring compass.

yeah, brain, i get you,
i know all the fat places but i think he likes my deep throat and i ain't ready to diet.
 — jenakajoffer

Yeah, I love your 'bill' poems.  No crit, I'm not worthy.  :)  39 is sublime
 — sybarite

thanks sybie :)

well, if i read this outside of myself, i immediately know where i would cut this poem. so i'm going to cut them out, and paste the poem underneath the original.  if anyone reads this again, i'd like to know what you think.
 — jenakajoffer

oh my gawd what is this....linus what kind of deranged is our love?
you own me big time, sloth.
 — jenakajoffer

excellent  as ever
 — rivergood