Tonight's Poet Corner: Loquacious
Loquacious
by Belinda Roddie
Can't you see that I'm half past mad?
Yanking sour notes from behind my
plaque-caked molars, stirring stews
to boil stories until they ooze out of my
nasal cavity? As the bubbles pop
from my nostrils and ears,
guests with full plates do not finish meals,
but glasses are always topped off.
I am no classy raconteur:
I am the maniacal concoction of a
one-night stand, pouring from a
hot champagne bottle with the sweat
rolling down the cheeks of walls,
stalling lovers ready to go home and
sleep beside one another in the same bed,
not to talk, but just to dream
in wordless euphoria, and I
bark and yowl and whinny
until I am more animal than friend.
by Belinda Roddie
Can't you see that I'm half past mad?
Yanking sour notes from behind my
plaque-caked molars, stirring stews
to boil stories until they ooze out of my
nasal cavity? As the bubbles pop
from my nostrils and ears,
guests with full plates do not finish meals,
but glasses are always topped off.
I am no classy raconteur:
I am the maniacal concoction of a
one-night stand, pouring from a
hot champagne bottle with the sweat
rolling down the cheeks of walls,
stalling lovers ready to go home and
sleep beside one another in the same bed,
not to talk, but just to dream
in wordless euphoria, and I
bark and yowl and whinny
until I am more animal than friend.
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