This might be a seal set on me,
The last kiss of whatever made me,
Red and warm and shaped to remember
That first impression of finality,
Here is my open court.
What would feed me,
What would be beloved,
The last breath rushing to leave me,
All must pass the ultimate test of this.
The little words go stumbling over the sill,
And laughter tumbles out
Upon the inaugural somersault of a smile.
Sorrow taps gently here for admission. …
To be broken again and ever again,
And to be thus eternized
Through the remorseless thrust of each fresh violation
Of what had been most securely death,
This might be a seal set on me
Just for this.
Mouth
Did you enjoy the the artible “Mouth” from Laura Riding Jackson on OZOFE.COM? Do you know anyone who could enjoy it as much as you do? If so, don't hesitate to share this post to them and your other beloved ones.
Leave a Reply