Monday, February 25, 2008


Clutch me by the throat and slit,

slither on in,

pump me full of hot metal.

Metal hearted me,

Gold hearted you,

We fuse.

One pulsing beast, we ravage the

cavities of duller chests,

we rip n' bleed ‘em,

we heat n' feed ‘em,

before we move on

into tomorrow's early morning flare.

Finding nobody there,

we storm,

stampede each other,

we rush n’ bleed each other.

Now wrapped in the heavy arms of quick sleep,

we slowly melt,

ooze and seep.

by A. Harriman

1 comment:

The Guild said...

This piece starts of so cliche I almost dismissed it without reading on. Any time you talk about slitting throats in such a blatant way it's going to be a turn off. But then you move on to the "...'N...'em..." portion of the poem which I love in the dark light of the first few lines. Read as a whole, this poem has a great sense of sad humor with good vigor and latent energy, and this only works in contrast to the first few lines.