Poem Up at AMARYLLIS
Poem Up at AMARYLLIS: Piece of My Heart
Piece of My Heart
Ms. Joplin
your voice rips apart
my face, my tie― the mark
of all hanged men.
your voice rips apart
my face, my tie― the mark
of all hanged men.
My remains roll on the ground
and the edge of your voice
blows my Monday into pieces.
I have the hunger of the employee
staring with contempt at the image
of his face in the glass door.
My hunger, a factory of anxieties,
its certainties, is convinced
that nothing will improve,
that this flagship raised during youth
will also sink. My last refuge
will have to be the skin
or the solitary bottle of whisky.
Janis, your voice is a knife
vibrating in the throat of pain.
But now
silence.
I have come to the place where
little masters live
and I hurry to annihilate the desire
of damning all to hell.
and the edge of your voice
blows my Monday into pieces.
I have the hunger of the employee
staring with contempt at the image
of his face in the glass door.
My hunger, a factory of anxieties,
its certainties, is convinced
that nothing will improve,
that this flagship raised during youth
will also sink. My last refuge
will have to be the skin
or the solitary bottle of whisky.
Janis, your voice is a knife
vibrating in the throat of pain.
But now
silence.
I have come to the place where
little masters live
and I hurry to annihilate the desire
of damning all to hell.
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