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Click hereMy dentist, Dr. Zomb,
laments how regretful
it is to have me in his chair —
oh, lay me back
on that marble slab. How disturbing.
I am his patient,
patient as a corpse.
Gums course with balsams,
hollows packed with salt —
I die a little.
Then she enters,
like Boris' Natasha.
She's Zomb's Horror,
with hygienist eyes:
six feet deep,
earth-brown and sad.
She cranks up Lake Loon
on Zomb's Victrola.
"Let the loon lull you.
Good doctor will return.
He always returns."
It is inevitable.
She exudes lethargy.
The Horror and loon
lull me...
for awhile.
I am tender
and blue.
It was inevitable.
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copyright d. dixon
2006
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of the short and eerie poem that gets right to the bones of the matter, In fact, it gets even deeper than the bones. Your poems dig into the mitochondrial DNA that connects us all and makes me wish I were more closely related to you so that some of your other-wordly talent would rub off on me!!! You are so damned good. So good. Thank you for all you have done to help me in my journey of learning the art and task of poetry.
~ maria
I think sometimes your lines are too short, and they miss the obvious breath that a line break creates. Let the words flow a bit more along the line. Your first two lines could run as one and there are many more.
will certainly receive special focus in today's New Poems Review board. But it might be later this evening because this week begins at the top and you're near the top, and you're making me grind some gears, near... yes, near the cranium. It's creepy but wacky but... dark.