Charles Malcolm


Operating Theater - Poem by Charles Malcolm

She stripped
screwed
pried open my heart
tinkered
with its clockwork.
A meth head
drunk
on too much time
waning interest
and Phillips-head
screwdrivers.
We ride
along the baggage carousel
on exhibit
like stuffed cheetahs
as chubby children
and wilted wellspring
coat their lips with ice cream,
choosing to not
remember why
they stopped
to watch.
They piss off
soon after,
Isolated
by the narrator
and enticed
by an act
more consolatory,
yet we still spin,
frozen in our roles.
We don't instruct
but remind ourselves
of what we've learned.

Topic(s) of this poem: love


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Poem Edited: Friday, March 13, 2015


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