Away With Words

In the midst of euphoria’s trite couplings,

I lost my way with words.

Whether subconscious streams of 

phrases drowned out my thoughts,

or rather, pebbles of cold syllables

were scoured away by the sharp liquid rush…

The fact remains to be proven,

and yet stands proud and defiant;

I slipped through the cracks.

Whether in part, or as a whole…

My knowledge was scrambled by instinct,

greed, or was it something akin to love?

Taking a thought over a penny any day,

I’ve welcomed intention instead of articulation.

And find myself now neatly wedged between two walls,

stacked with people, and not a hand-hold in sight.

Jennifer Burnside

The Show

The way the evening progresses

is much like a play in reverse.

The curtains are drawn after

the last line is spoken,

and the story back-tracks

like an ancient curse.

Nothing quite goes as expected.

Interruptions reproduce

like tadpoles in the spring.

And while swarms of thoughts

linger thick like a cloud,

the locusts are timid and shy.

At key moments, words plant

their tiny barbed fangs into

soft spineless bodies of remorse.

Playing the part of predator,

sly letters flip over their prey

like a crocodile’s death-roll.

After the broken phrases,

a sour downpour drowns sound,

and silence pools like blood.

There is nothing left to say,

but the need won’t go away,

so the orchestra packs up.

And that’s the end of the show.

Jennifer Burnside

Possible Diagnosis

Beneath the inflamed flesh of your tender pulp

swells an angry cyst, filling and spreading with time.

There is no head for release, no channels for detour.

Rather, lethargy bears down steady, thick and heavy.

This is an abnormal chain of events, which have been

unraveling and subsequently tangling for the past several days.

Spiraled into an infuriating state of implosion,

your movements are loose and frequent.

Runny and flecked with blood, your mind seeps

through its own cracks, proving that eternity is inevitable.

Despite the fresh samples your heart provides,

the crafty little parasites go undetected.

Invisible energy-suckers ride on your wings

as your feathers wilt and deteriorate like antique doilies.

You arrive five minutes late and leave in the nick of time.

But the diagnosis is timeless and only a possibility.

Jennifer Burnside