Atonal bolero goes round in rote
Mounting its tension, seeking its home note
Which never comes.
.
The clonus fires and seizes about
The tissue in acid and muscles flout
Limitation.
.
I so need what I really do not need
Suffer the insufferable, indeed
Precipitous.
.
Peace unrequited, tragic asymptote
Fruitless debaucherous life zoetrope
My Hell is here.
...
...
About the Creator
Gerard DiLeo
Retired, not tired. Hippocampus, behave!
Make me rich! https://www.amazon.com/Gerard-DiLeo/e/B00JE6LL2W/
My substrack at https://substack.com/@drdileo
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More stories from Gerard DiLeo and writers in Poets and other communities.
What the Night Remembers — Uncovering secrets buried by daylight
The lamp on Marcus's nightstand has been on for three hours. It's 11:47 PM, and he hasn't moved from the bed. The envelope sits on the dresser across the room, Sarah's handwriting still crisp on the front: Read this when you're ready. Not before. She'd left it six months ago, back when leaving still felt impossible. Back when they were still negotiating the geometry of their collapse.
By Anie Liban4 days ago in Poets
Comments (2)
I think most of us would be able to relate to this. Loved your poignant poem!
This is so clever and breathtaking. Well done, Gerard!