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Friday, March 12, 2010

Modern Warfare





My tongue's a saber
Inside a false stiletto heel
My hair has barbs, piranha fangs concealed within each strand
It slices your skin if you go along it in the wrong direction
A blowgun sits just inside my throat
With pouches of toxin close by
My eyes are radar slits
With slowly revolving fields
A mollusk shell shields my emotions
A chain mail plexus lies camouflaged along my body
It's impossible being me
And trying to not wound you-
I sometimes lie to myself, and I tell myself
That I do not care that you are wounded,
That you should have known
That any dealings with me would result
In you're being hurt; you should have expected it
On the worst days, I gash you joyously
To hear you howl and
To see the blood run in rivulets.
But I always cry in the dark
When nobody can see it
And wish that I were more normal;
Surrounded on all sides as I am
By the walking wounded.

6 comments:

  1. Great posting H, it's like your're describing a cyborg, a killing machine that has just enough human emotion left to know it's doing wrong. Great picture too, what is that snow, salt, chemicals?

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  2. This is another one of my favorites from you. Great poem - great mood-setting and choice of words very fitting with the idea. You sent chills at "On the worst days..." to the end.

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  3. I know how this feels....but I don't know how you could have described this so ...it works its magic so well

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  4. A powerful, dark piece, Patti. I love those opening lines - so stark and terrifying.

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  5. I liked your poetry so much on Hello Poetry that I thought I would pay you a visit here--and it was well worth it. I like the sharp edges in this one. They are dangerous and deftly wielded.

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  6. Hi H. I was on HP a while ago reading your latest posting, I left my comment then I was told it had been deleted. It was very good, unsettling, but good.

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