When she breathed
into her sacrum
there was a scorch
under her,
a chair that squeaked
in the room
drawing fast attention
But she breathed once
more and turned her
head for accents
in the inhalation
as she watched the
shadow
exceed the animal
Ah, she intervened
how can i be panting
atop a clockface when
so many underfoot
furried things
are darkening my walk:
Go to the light, breathe
in like butane, follow
the flame, and all will
be made right.
Facile nonsense, a pithy
remedy of syllables never
cured a cancer. how can
you begin to believe that
ranting run-on
sentences can tithe
a tidy mortal sum?
I give up, i won’t breathe,
if that helps you come to
mind, but lung alert
on suffering can one day
sound the dawn.
OH, YAWN.
(a 4-minute poem)
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
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