It Died On The Floor

For love, for country,
America the lovely, the most beautiful
of souls in this asylum,
where she spends all the thoughts in
her head like loose change,

none worth a damn but giving into them anyway.

I took her hand and
dared escape these padded walls that smell
of rubbing booze and crushed up Halls, where the
fall hurts than
landing.

Come with me, love,
I said;
I’d not lead you anywhere past
the front door if it translated to
bloodshed.

Her second chance died
on the floor, straitjacketed,
lower lip trembling, as if
she was remembering for
the first time,

I’m her creation,
romantically dated, fated to talk to
her from corners, imagined
coroner of her spiritual
forfeiture.

The pursuit of
happiness is
over-rated.

Headcases fare
much better.

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3 thoughts on “It Died On The Floor

  1. “where she spends all the thoughts in her head like loose change” is wonder turn of phrase

    i am a fan of slipping a rhyme into a poem inconspicuously rather than using words in what i class as straight rhyme format, so mid line rhyme of wording flips that switch nicely for me (“romantically dated, fated to…”) as for some reason i have a nancy pants haughty narrator in my head if i read straight rhyme that i cant shake and spoils my reading of poems sometimes – so a sneaky little one slipped in there cleanly works well in my mind. The frank no-nonsense ending slaps it home too which is brilliant.

    Like

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