Eyes Glazing Over Starts....

...Now.

Good morning boys and girls. Does anyone know what today is? Friday; that's absolutely correct! And do you remember what's so special about Friday?

"Beer:30!"

No...

"It's the one day of the week you don't have to drink alone."

Well, that's true. But there's another reason why Fridays are special here at WLPF. Does anyone else want to take a guess? No?
Friday is Morbid Poetry Day at Wordlust : Paperfetish.

Hey, who likes to play dress up and pretend? All of you? Wow--me too!

Now, who knows who Emily Dickinson was? Well, I like to pretend I'm Emily Dickinson from time to time. Even though I'm all grown up, I indulge in a little harmless disassociative episode when I can't stand being myself for one more second. When I come to, I'm always relieved to not have to scrape a kid off of my tires, but sometimes there's a poem stuck to my shoe.

Spinsterly,


Cindy



Stranded

The morning found me
still as stone,
and cold as river clay.
I lay there long, motionless,
for near eternity.

The night had stiffened
up my bones
so thorough that it seemed
movement was not agony,
but impossibility.

I wondered long,
and tried so hard
to get up from my bed.
It’s just a simple thing, I said.
I did this yesterday!

My eyes, still shut,
could not behold
the brand new light of day.
No hope or force immutable
could pry them from their dreams.

To beg was useless:
Whom to entreat?
I agonized alone.
Rage and rancor, impotent
to let my soul back in.

Laid down my head
the night before,
when the mystery of sleep
came to take my supple life
and left this empty shell,
that dawn would find
still as stone-
to ponder mornings breached.