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alleycat mansion..

I buried a crow
in a backyard grave
with a bottle of bourbon

took its wings and the caw from its throat,
and wrapped them in a summer dress
then I bundled the wounds into a storm drain

I followed as it drifted through
a gutter of bottles and stars
and electric blue guitars
voicebox choking on red shards of glass

it finally drowned
somewhere near the corner
of streetcar stars and a moon named desire
some people like to call it heaven
i like to call it wishful thinking or blowing out
birthday candles..

you want me to make a wish?
there is no cab charge to ask me what i wish for..
but don't ask me what i want..

because if

skeleton flowers..

you mimed a poem for me..
the actions were aged and torn:
transparent words
melting into rain-flower eyes

I pressed the silence into a music box carefully:
like antique flowers delicately folded
into a heart-shaped locket

and buried the box beneath my bed:

I never opened it again

..

© Amy Ingram

drowned jazz...

i sleep
beneath my dreams
my belly fat with love and insects

i sleep beneath the roof of a cruel black tent
small birds and bats perform above
in a broken circus

and the moon is always silent:
a broken ferris wheel

waiting for casualties

i am a barking spider
curled up in a wide-eyed bed
and beneath these ribs crawl butterflies
with broken legs

i wake
to an obscene portrait of drowned jazz /~

to the blue rain blowing ghosts
down a one way street
and i ride with the owls until my eyes
find shelter again

and i'll wake again in the morning,
crammed tight in a vase filled with people:

but I will wake up alone

a flaccid

Lady Gray

No one suspected
she had blood
all over her tiny white hands
crushed doves
like sad red prayers
tucked into immaculate doeskin
and hidden from the world.
She kept count of her bad deeds
like a strand of rosary beads
suspended from her wrist
savoring each remembrance
vibrating on the chain
with a self-indulgent smile
And her sweet face bore no years
and her delicate fingers
left no trace
of the crimes
hanging inside her mouth
the hook and eye of her lips
stained like a broken bird.
But an artist had caught
the sockets behind her eyes
bulleted like wormwood
and where her cheekbones caved
under sallow flesh
and the vibra

beauty macabre..

there is something tragic in the way
I view you with eyes
the wrong
colour..

the sky tonight is shapeless,
it resembles the love that rises
darkly hollow in my chest,
formless
and morbid..

misery in a velveteen dress

ever cautious not to choke on the hues,
i meticulously manipulate the colours that cloak you,
like a crow that picks at the flesh of a mourning dove
to reveal supple bones of elegant white
..caw-caw

[you make my lips itch for a
cigarette and my lashes twitch
in a neurotic butterfly tick]

and the way you st-stutter
whilst you choke on the shadows,
is quaintly hypnotic

timid muse,
i adore you..

would you

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Submitted: June 18, 2009
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sideshow lolitaby ~thetanglebox

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Visual & Found Poetry

Edit: changed the file, because the text was too hard to read against the background

.. also changed the image in areas and added Toto to the mix

This is an entry in the Magical Muse contest [link]

This was written about my muse .. she takes me to both weird and wonderful places

This was painful lol .. took me the best part of the last couple of days to complete.

Thank you to all the stock folks for allowing me to use their images

Stock Credit:

[link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link] [link]
Jofie Devoe - purchased stock..
plus my own and many, many painted elements

© Amy Ingram

_{copyright .. All rights reserved. No part of this poem or image may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author ..

This image and poem is registered and protected by safecreative.org copyright registry.}

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~Avallynh May 14, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

One of the most thoroughly delightful things I've ever read (three times in a row). It's all lovely winding whimsy, wistful and picture-perfect. It was worth every bit of the effort that put it together.