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"Poetry is My Jezebel"


She wakes me from slumber
to dance naked through my mind 
and antagonise me once more. 
She screams for attention 
in packed rooms,
And beckons from 
the towering branches of Elms. 
Her footsteps 
echo behind 
as she dances along, 
my words captured 
in a cheap clutch bag. 

I shower - she washes me. 
I eat - she feeds me. 
I dress - she undresses me. 
I breath - she exhales. 

She parades before me 
on crowded trains 
and purrs from overhead 
luggage racks. 
She smiles seductively 
in my car and raises her hem - 
as her broken nails 
tear my face and back, 
seeking more and more 
attention. 
Yet, 
when I am ready for her 
she abandons me. 
All my credit spent, 
and leaves me hanging on 
the threads of temptation 
she has sown. 
She laughs - hauntingly, 
from these empty pages 
and her shadow....ah her shadow 
brushes against my face 
and dries out my tongue. 

Then my words - once more, 
are gone. 

Mick Goodson
copyright 2000





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