Aftermath

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  • Sadness

    Aftermath
    Champagne ghosts pierce the veil of life
    Blinding me to the smell of dawn

    Rising rhythmically to tap dance on porcelain
    Wild angels writhing in celebration

    Seeping through my belly and brain
    Translucent perfume thick with salt

    Bleeding screams of laughter
    Squirming through rivulets of blood

    Cold decay of a smoky yesterday
    Dissolving in my cup of coffee

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    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

    Cheri’s Poems (4)

    Title Comments Submitted
    Title Comments Submitted
    Aftermath 0 05/09/2009
    Paradise 2 05/09/2009
    Night Song 0 05/09/2009
    Rainy Morning 1 05/09/2009
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