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Omnivore
with my stomach I have met
mole-like most of the world
and I am full better than full
of meat and visions
but I am not satisfied with
the method used
this again and again being hungry
taking pills
Poems on the topic: pill
Poems on the topic “pill” on Poets.by.
A taste of her own medicine
I take a pill for a wife
a pretty lady made of loss and ash
what a fable this is
getting her out of the way to drink
O door without a house
door gone like a pill
Sugar Pill
Is it or isn’t it?
The sugar pill isn’t saying.
The line that bisects it
was intentionally left blank.
It’s a go sign, perhaps,
or a one-bead rosary.
Its zero gives birth
to all other numbers.
Since opposites attract within
bounds of reason & good breeding,
it must be in love
with a salt tablet.
It can be anything
the salt wants,
including another condiment
that cures vagueness.
The Ceremonial Dropping Of The Pills
I was always so afraid to
Walk around that corner
Many mornings I would stand in
The living room, trembling near the
Couch as the heat from
The sun slashed through the bay window
And crept slowly up my back
It seems I never felt anything
Except for the heat on my back,
Regardless of where I went
But if I stood too long, I knew you
Would find me, and if I snuck back
To my room, I knew you would find me
If I hid, you would find me
If I told, you would find me
And so I would walk into the kitchen
The Sonnets XXVI
I wake up back aching from soft bed Pat
gone to class Ron to work (I
never heard a sound) its my birthday. I put on
birthday pants birthday shirt go to ADAM'S buy a
pepsi for breakfast come home drink it take a
pill I'm high. I do three Greek lessons
to make up for cutting class. I read birthday book
(from Joe) on Juan Gris real name Jose Victoriano
Gonzales stop in the middle read all
my poems gloat a little over new ballad quickly skip old
sonnets imitations of Shakespeare. Back to books. I read
poems by Auden Spenser Pound Stevens and Frank O Hara. I hate
books.
I wonder if Jan or Helen or Babe
ever think about me. I wonder if Dave Bearden still
dislikes me. I wonder if people talk about me
The Girl in the Wire Cage
Every day she makes her way
from her place to mine, and
every day she has her say
to everyone standing in line
as I am patiently waiting, and
watching the reflection off her hair
that tears the rust off my heart.
Every day she hands out meds,
this Florence Nightingale of Jail
and every day I wait my turn
to see her lips part Giaconda smile
at not seeing me for a while,
says my name a little differently,
touches my hand a little longer,
drops the pill on my skin, and
breathes a deep friendly breath,
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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