Gefallsucht | Nachtschwärmer | nightghosts failing to please | a puddle poem

he didn’t want to know

find out

he’d walk into his grave detached

and be told everything after death

and realised how he wasted his own time

with the absence of information and burned roots

talked into non-existence


I don’t have a past he preached

his pores reeking of expensive wine

eulogies that sound like jokes

a bed made of alcohol

he wakes up with the monsters he ignored

and drowns them one by one

a grimace on his face

a lightness anchored in his burial ground body

the face and the body, yes, the mouth, the words that escape

never add up, never make sense

he sees everything and pretends that he’s free


yellow tongue blanket feather ladder window ashtray heartbeat

finger scissors door gust of wind rotten apple skin peel heave

gaunt sofa irreversible walk holding on stewing head of the table

eyes on me inwardly staggering here he comes nightgown winter threat

cancerous flowers cut out colours shades figurines shadows beauty beneath a tree

odourless cold air refugee little boy words too ominous scaffold walk alive chest of drawers

skin deep pantomime news recycle stirring earth and rain memories and mint

salt fermentation milk butter knife brew pit blackening soul gum sober at the door

shaving right angle hole car dough through body water recoiling downwards closed

My own drawing © Laura Gentile 2021 | Instagram: @melpomenepaintings

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