Three Tongues For A Crayon Red Mouth (Michael Paul Ladanyi)
Thomas woke this morning to find
green rain slip-ticking,
coma choking, falling in aluminum-dog
stages that hear like asthma breath.
He thought about how he’d give
three tongues for a crayon red mouth,
something not paper-yellowed
and crunch-toothed,
plaster over vaseline eyes.
The splinter-bone war is ear slicing,
is rooster-eye voodoo---
he can’t paint anything that does
not step backward on oil-black piano keys,
when blood tastes like glass bird bombs.
To himself, he speaks
as fast as he can’t hear,
tremble-clicking burnt words
orange in the brain,
while morning slides its thimble
across his dirt-grin mouth.
(Copyright (C) Michael Paul Ladanyi)
green rain slip-ticking,
coma choking, falling in aluminum-dog
stages that hear like asthma breath.
He thought about how he’d give
three tongues for a crayon red mouth,
something not paper-yellowed
and crunch-toothed,
plaster over vaseline eyes.
The splinter-bone war is ear slicing,
is rooster-eye voodoo---
he can’t paint anything that does
not step backward on oil-black piano keys,
when blood tastes like glass bird bombs.
To himself, he speaks
as fast as he can’t hear,
tremble-clicking burnt words
orange in the brain,
while morning slides its thimble
across his dirt-grin mouth.
(Copyright (C) Michael Paul Ladanyi)
posted by Michael Paul Ladanyi | Monday, November 14, 2005
1 Comments:
I have followed your poetry for two years or so now. The images and sounds your work creates never cease to amaze me. Your art is an asset to the literary community at large.
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