Sandy Player Poems
|1.||The Sheep Gang||2/1/2013|
|3.||Doctor's Smoke Jar||2/1/2013|
|6.||In The Graves||2/14/2013|
|7.||Long Sable Torch||2/22/2013|
|9.||Down The Drain||2/25/2013|
|11.||The Waiting Rooms Fish Tank||4/13/2013|
|12.||Left Alone For Another Lifetime||4/20/2013|
|13.||My Love Is A Red, Red Pool||9/4/2013|
|14.||A Tree Can'T Sing||9/4/2013|
|15.||To My Voice||12/30/2013|
|16.||Pure Dripping Pure||12/30/2013|
Why do I ask where to go
When caught like the wolf
Who licks an eskimo's sword?
The tree that my parents put me in,
That had too many branches,
Doesn't have so many anymore
But copies of those bloodied blades.
The tallest branches were the first to go;
Those raised balconies in the sky.
Maybe I should wash my clothes
And offer them to that star and cloud contradiction; I only
Make them dirty and they tear at the seams;
They never were too good a quality.
I can package myself away until someone has a use for me.
Yes sir, this coffin...
The Children make a change of clothing;
Tightening up red scarves
And displaying hats as if helmets.
Their grandparents stay inside as they gear up.
Perhaps another tea for now,
Bought with more silver, steel and Chinese blood.
Iron petals of snowflakes fall like an industrial revolution,
Overnight the land is levelled wearing the same rich bridal dress