Sandy Player Poems
|1.||The Sheep Gang||2/1/2013|
|3.||The Waiting Rooms Fish Tank||4/13/2013|
|4.||Pure Dripping Pure||12/30/2013|
|6.||To My Voice||12/30/2013|
|9.||In The Graves||2/14/2013|
|10.||Long Sable Torch||2/22/2013|
|13.||Doctor's Smoke Jar||2/1/2013|
|16.||Down The Drain||2/25/2013|
|17.||My Love Is A Red, Red Pool||9/4/2013|
|18.||A Tree Can'T Sing||9/4/2013|
|20.||Left Alone For Another Lifetime||4/20/2013|
It tastes sweet,
A syrupy figure of strawberry juice
Spiralling like a typhoon in the glass,
Tastes sweet as I kiss the rim
Into the corners of my mouth like
Two blunt knives.
I used to play a little with
The pills before hiding them away in me
One by one but
I crack the packets open this time
Like Christmas crackers
And take a suprise bomb; a bad joke.
The back of my mouth and the top of my throat
Wave on the first green coated hero
And the second doesn't stick either
But the next go in
As commandos whose cover is blown;
Like the poisonous...
Doctor's Smoke Jar
They've put me back together again.
Staples and paper making up for skin,
Each perscription another dry and thin sheet.
The doctor hangs his blood flecked white apron,
His angel suit put away, and he's that man.
The epidermis he transferred is already peeling off, like a napkin.
But I am above men and cats,