Denise’s Bad Old Poetry Corner

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Dead Cat Sonnet #2

I came across the body of the cat
Who once lived in a house that I know well.
An auto is responsible for that
Which locked his mind, his movements, in a cell.
He left a bit too early than was planned,
An act that left those living with regret.
We should have kept him in and let him stand
Impatiently by doors; he'd be here yet.
I sometimes think I hear his footsteps but
I know I'll never hear his odd miaow.
We let him make his own mind up in What
He did and When he did it, also How.
So freedom's what he wanted, what he had,
And now his soul's set free; I hope he's glad.
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Your glasses are not
Just rose-colored
But blocked completely
Take them off,
Shed them as
A shucked ear of corn
That sounds more painful
Than it is
See me not just when
I am ugly
Swan dung colored blowfish bloated
Rubbed raw like over-fucked pussy
See me when I am beautiful
A sun throwing back her robes
The robin’s first-noticed song
A thoughtless tune hummed
From the heart
Ordinarily, I would advise your
Keeping one lens in
But me you can see best in only a glow.
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To Build a Fire

He told her once,
Though she’d been smoking for years
That the proper way to light a cigarette
Was to hold the flame close
Not touching
Fire to fuel
And draw her breath in
Air down through lungs
Close to the heart
But not quite there
Pull the fire close
Suck it in deeply
Close eyes in orgasm
And inexorably

To Fill In Space

Blah, blah, blah
Blah, blah-blah, blah
And then he hurt me
Blah, blah, blah
Blah, blah-blah, blah

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