exercise in Southern Gothic

train comes, its wrack
the undisguisably pickled

dregs of hope de-
composing, dreaming acidly

in blue glass, mason. so
much for bloated beginnings,

point-of-departure daggered
summer afternoons in the market

where souls are at auction as
they were lifetimes ago

and charlatans lien awned
forevers under skies that

darken and gradually un-
remember. she presses

thin dress over pale thigh, fights
wind-made wrack in torn fabric,

holds her voice white-knuckled:
what price would you pay

to drain the vinegar,
slough history, begin again?



14 thoughts on “exercise in Southern Gothic

  1. i dunno, i am always afraid inteh rewriting that i would screw it up worse than i did the first time you know…smiles…really some nice touches…the mason glass…the train…

    next time i roll by i will honk louder…smiles.

    • thanks, brian. this one really came from a lotta different places, though sometimes i think there really are things i would re-do….

      yeah, next time you come by lay on the horn; i’ll up the shades and wave from the window. 🙂

  2. The heavy cloud of regret lingers here – I liked following the path of this sad daydream. You do melancholy so well, 🙂 thanks Mosk

  3. First of all, I like the poem. Secondly, not sure what price I would pay but I would probably kill someone to go back to the time in history when I was thin and with a full head of hair.

  4. Awesome details, images and descriptions. If there is a train to take one back to a point in time one wishes to change, what is the price indeed. Hard to say, somehow I think if it’s possible, you won’t know the price till you come back to the present point again. Interesting poem. 🙂


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