We’re dressed in our best,
And we’re ready
For the show.
Tucked, like mad, demented,
Mangled children.
Cave rock spinsters, and
Scarlet starlet
Turning naked to
The harlot screen.
I’ve done my best,
And that’s all I can ask of me.
I’m wounded, I’m hurting,
Unraveled and dancing.
Cooing like cool, soft
Babies.
Diamond flooded eyes, and
Flirted demise.
Something’s gone wrong.
They can’t understand.
What is wrong with this man?
Some destitute artist, like
Barren masked Alaska;
A treasure to be found through
The shivering,
Mad laughs.
He snaps.
Good god renaissance
And agnostic heart-ache,
Protested.
These people;
Blood on the walls.
They don’t understand.
I’ll explain,
But it will take
A century.
Beauty.
Uncovered.
Wow.
Eat me now.
Artists often feel like aliens. You convey that perfectly and painfully. These lines especailly slapped me: 'These people..' and ' I'll explain, But it will take a century.' My Friday night was dry until...
Intriguing...makes me want to read more, Ethan. And that's what it's about - sjg
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dear young poet Ethan. You have a talent. Though young I give you a 10 (it will take, a week to explain) Beauty, not uncovered but disclosed, revealed. Eat me, says the Poetry. Go ahead, with more rich ideas. Poetry is expecting you to give more and deeper. Thanks for sharing! Joseph Josephides - Member of the International Society of Poets (ISP) Intern.Library of Poetry awarded