May 18, 2009

Must Be Ghosts

She was good, wasn't she?

Beyond the latest crash and bang
and pink lips' muffled howl
lies a world of the dead,
of deep sand and shabby dogs
with motes of dust for eyes.
Her skeleton rests uneasy
against a wheel of sand.
In its cage of sun-bleached
ribs, there waits a crimson bird
whose smoked-glass eyes inquire.

When were you a man?


Paul said...

That is brilliant. I think it is my favourite poem of yours I have read, full, alive, wonderful tone.

The Wholesome Satyr said...

' cage of sun-bleached ribs ' is predictable - almost telly. The poem could do with some more surprises. Good one otherwise. I would also suggest hyphenating ' pink lips''. Why 'crimson' bird? I found 'wheel of sand' beautiful. I will attribute a need for symmetry to it, otherwise I cannot understand the reason for the space between the last two lines.

Agnes said...

Thanks, Paul.

LOL Ravi, you crack me up.