Night Poetry

Dumb dogs
With ears pressed against the hotel wall
Listening for a peep, screech, or howl
Accompanied by rhythmic rocking
To the heavy metal beat
Of him getting his
After giving her hers
When she bleeds, she bleeds fire
That he harnesses to craft words
On his blood stained pages
Of their night’s reminder.

~*~

Wrote this one night when I should have been sleeping. Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.

Connect with me on Twitter: @sm_saves

~*~

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3 thoughts on “Night Poetry

  1. I like your left-field approach here (elsewhere as well, but here it shines a bit brighter… y’know, in the dark of this poem) and I also like the freeform realism that shines through. Imagery-rich, as always (though we might disagree over what the “heavy metal beat” sounds like) but more than being “just” evocative (which you excel at) it’s also “indicative” if that makes sense. Of more than just what’s happening. There are elements of witchcraft and ritual in there, something far too epic to and far too epic not to be contained within the boundaries of the hotel room.

    From where I read this I can see it: the dim, orange light coming from that lamp on the bedside, the gaudy patterns on the sheets, the half-dark enveloping the corners, the dust motes in the air, floating freely in the light of the lamp, swayed by the breeze of the ritual. The dogs, outside, under the pale, flourescent light’s circle, pacing, eager to hear more of what’s going on than the relentless, though at times unexpectedly erratic, rhythm.

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