Leafy Bones

Tuesday, 15 November 2011

Inside the ribcage

She's difficult-
interchangeable, indescribable.
And until we're in agreement
my mind can't keep up.

Inside the ribcage
nest upon nests are made,
and maybe I am in there too.

Compass to masses:
stranded out here,
in your beautiful arms- outstretched
across the miles
that descend loneliness.
That ascend her clots.

Picnic on the marrow,
she beats a thousand drums;
land, home, hereafter.
Tomorrow it will be plain,
and tonight in vain.


  1. Wow truly compelling piece, never knew inside the ribcage could be so full, until the picnic starts..haha

  2. that ascend her clots is a visceral line, i like...which leads well into the last which is just as...picnicing on the marrow...wow...that whole last stanza is tight...

  3. Striking and sharp, stiletto-like use of personification to skewer the emotions and turn them on the slow revolving spit of poetry--final lines are genius.

  4. This is poetry. I especially love the second stanza.