She asks about writing in your own language and you keep drawing circles
Uninspired he
pimped his muse,
raked lines
to rank high,
waving cigars on TV.
Unrestrained rituals
of quill quenching
in lamb sacrificed.
The resulting work forcibly
fed to students gagging.
Your liver fattened,
you shut the door
for a sanitary escape
until you drag
yourself to back to class.
Your organs fail
the tests of twisted
trends fashionably
flushing joy
off the page.
Years later you scramble
to place the final
stroke. You let them
ruin your tongue.
But your voice was already shifting.
5 thoughts on "She asks about writing in your own language and you keep drawing circles"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
Never doubt your own voice, Fanny. Your work is impeccable, as always. I can feel the scramble in the last stanza very clearly.
Whew!: That last stanza
I really enjoyed this. Love “raked lines/to rank high,” agree with Pam.
Yes, echoing all above.
and
“Unrestrained rituals/
of quill quenching”
Goot dammmmmm.
Such incredible shuffle.
Great poem.
“fashionably flushing joy off the page”
🔥