Tonight's Poet Corner: Remnants of the Individual
Remnants of the Individual
by Belinda Roddie
Hot-fingered and cold-hearted,
lingering over bottles and bowls of
shriveled pistachios, the eight o'clock
stragglers watch the baseball game go
awry for the home team. I drink whiskey
and soda and my own curdled spit just
to add some sort of flavor to my everyday
existence. I straddle the line between sin
and self-loathing, remembering the days
when I was nestled against a warm body,
belonging to someone
cold-fingered and hot-hearted, lingering
between sheets and on pillows full of dying
feathers, clinging to my hips as the lights went
out all over the whole damn crazy town.
by Belinda Roddie
Hot-fingered and cold-hearted,
lingering over bottles and bowls of
shriveled pistachios, the eight o'clock
stragglers watch the baseball game go
awry for the home team. I drink whiskey
and soda and my own curdled spit just
to add some sort of flavor to my everyday
existence. I straddle the line between sin
and self-loathing, remembering the days
when I was nestled against a warm body,
belonging to someone
cold-fingered and hot-hearted, lingering
between sheets and on pillows full of dying
feathers, clinging to my hips as the lights went
out all over the whole damn crazy town.
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