Blue-john stones

The elephants are trooping
stoically round the drapery
concealing your filthy bedchamber
but I don't mind
cigarette stained
mottled wallpaper
This place is a crippled b n b
run into disrepair by smoke-soaked
desperate lonely men.
maybe the wiring is dodgy
and I'm here alone for the first time
the peace of three sedatives
the tide of cocaine-clenched intense waves
receding and laying bare
a drenched shore of sea glass
and lesser spotted treasures.
we dont need luxury
but why is the the world ordered
by principles of cruelty and exploitation
maybe the bedsit
has a lingering aroma of despair
but your few outré possessions
that ancient dresser we hauled
from the other side of town
I opened it tonight
and found a treasure chest greater than that
of Jeff Bezos' grotesque wealth
How they reduce human life and love
To exploitable commodities
That's not love
Love is the richness of smelling
Your old band t-shirts
Choosing one to wear
and reclining in this bedsit hovel
Cocooned in blankets
awaiting your return.
They think we have no power
we're rats to use
or mites to crush if we don't comply
But they will never know
how this feels
to gorge on love alone
we'll find the depths of our souls
In a cavern of blue-john stones.
fuck it,
marry me.


Published by artemisbronstein

recluse poet feminist marxist

2 thoughts on “Blue-john stones

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