Writing

detached

critical engagement

least obviously
intricate web
geometric poem
insistently intervenes

a demarcation
stake out
sacred discourses
strings plucked
within the fabric

texture may
resonate
virtually any shape
dangling
shadowing

deepest recesses
whose claustrophobic
affect
is something of an unquiet soul

it will always find ways to return

Bob Georgeson
November 2012
 

 

Susan
 

It is impossible to masturbate
when all I hear is the yelling
coming from their bedroom
accusations leap at each others throats
it's always YOUR fault
she wants to spend
he wants to save

She wants to look like the other women in the street
he wants the power of success
she wants freedom lost through marrying so young
he wants her to cook, clean and open her legs
in return for a roof over her head
marriage is a contract
profit and loss, demand and supply

I think of Susan at the end of the street
Hers were the first breasts I ever saw
Mysteriously pale laced with purple veins
stretched tight over milk laden treasures
as she fed her newborn son
black hair green eyes
the voice of an actress
drowning out the tragedy of my parents,
feeding me with love