i feel like stonewall f*****g jackson

i sit alone
at a table set for two,
no christ
to turn my water to wine,
and my,
how this cold turkey's
gotten stale.
empty bottles line
a black hole chandelier,
like sentinels safeguarding
the sanctity
of he-said she-said
and the dated sanctimony
of clean living.
this last supper spurns
a spectre,
the forgotten me
across the table,
choking down his helping
of self-immolation
as the bottles vacate
and the lights of
righteousness
flash forth their
holy rolled exuberance.

 

our disappointment
rests between us.

 

 

Reviews

[Alysa Salzberg]

Another great title. And i like the use of "s" sounds - it gives a pretty, yet hissing and unhappy music. Very nice job. Though I wish I could see a Part 2, where you enjoyed being with yourself and had a few laughs. :-)

[Chloe Madison Taylor.]

stonewall Jackson? Nice reference. Someone paid attention in history class.

Do you always write like this? I guess I'll find out. I'm going to keep reading your work until I'm disappointed.

[Legion]

Deeply dark. Sometimes loneliness is better shared with two. Nicely written.

[GBU POETRY ONLY]

Clever title, S.Thunders... Very "in your face" poetry ..
Great irreverent opening blast with spurts thru-out...
The bottles of the black hole chandelier with its sentinel qualities
bursts with lusty firebreathing wake-up calls for the holy rollers
to choke on. Awesome, F**k off to the stoners who cast the 1st one..
GBU