The Breathless Cage (No. 75)

by

Everard S. Polakow

Piercing orbs
Picasso - like
challenged me
from atop
a breathless cage
hemmed in
by bedside machines.

" I live
just about
and I hate
all around
in desperation
myself too
for my style
that has ruined "

Her eyes spat
while a tongue
purple and weak
pushed out words
one by one
staccato
in a rhythm
all ebb

Unique she was
rather young
arms and legs
flailing wildly
round a barrel
without air

Tightly contained
in her personal capsule
of guilt
and fear
and family
and smoking
she waited...

NEXT?
Why don't you look at 'Tis In The Power Of Money
by: Francis Duggan
from: Wonthaggi, Victoria, Australia

To visit all of Everard S. Polakow's poems, click HERE

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