- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Leaving The Funeral
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Click hereThose smiles
that melt down your chins,
prop them on crutches.
I want upper lips
to drip over your teeth,
eroding.
Which one of you bitches
popped these stares
from the sockets of lunacy?
Your chants follow me to the chapel,
where daughters wait.
"Little sisters,
come with Mama."
From a window,
in the yellow diner, we watch
Daddy's hearse go by.
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copyright d. dixon
2006
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- COMMENTS
normal jeanover 15 years agothat was a revelation for me. That it is okay to write about <i>certain</i> things. You've taught me so much. This poem taught me more than I can explain with the simple tools I have. Thank you.
champagne1982over 15 years agoI can feel the surrealness of death, disbelief and anger that everyone else isn't trapped in the hallucinogenic movement through the first week and that horrible day when you know the hearse is on a one way trip. You capture atmosphere so well. Love it.
