I threw myself down
buried my head
in a caseless pillow
A primordial ooze
melted down my cheek
in death procession pace
my face gorged in mascara molasses
crawling too slowly
down my arm
no cry but a quicksand
of gooshing
melodramatics
The Good Angel shouldered a smirk betting the devil
which drop would win.
which drop would win.
© 2010 by Joyce Mason
All Rights Reserved
joycemason.com
Author's Note: No Cry but a Quicksand is part of a three-poem trilogy I call The Sanity Poems, which also include Today I Saran Wrapped My Sanity and The Glass Blower and the Goat.
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