Monday, May 16, 2016

A Tumbleweed Contessa Poem: sometimes the ceiling drops on her

just another day, another dollar-two-fifty
for wind-blown, euphonious  poetry


Mimi Wolske
All Rights Reserved 

© sometimes the ceiling drops on her



she never knows what chapter she’s in,
she never understands the plot, and
she never knows what to do next.

whipping out her pair of used scissors
like an old gunslinger, she
cuts down snow-licking sunflowers

before they become massively dehydrated;
it’s her own private blend of
brain-hatching unhappiness.

there she squats sobbing tears of dirt,
legs bent like a grasshopper’s
with her knees at her shoulders,

her arms tight around those coltish legs
as if to prevent them from
wandering off and leaving her.

stretching for an explanation, trying
desperately to fall into
the rhythm of the story, but

she never knows what chapter she’s in,
she never understands the plot, and
she never knows what to do next.


(painting by Michael Cheval)


6 comments:

  1. ...i hear some hallucinogenics may help

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    1. lol -- naw...not me, but thanks for an alternate interpretation. I like that.

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  2. Superb - I can identify having lost the plot for much of my story too...

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    1. thank you, thank you. and thank you for relating.

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