June 16, 2017

Poetry: “Styx”

For my rage: may it bleed out, every drop.


Old truck © Alan Carville ID 1702461 | Dreamstime Stock Photos


Remove the chassis
From the classless cad’s cab
BASS substitutes for a genuine pulse
Tenor keeps the shocks
And struts
In suspension.

You’ve been cold longer than Brewskis
Keep the good ol’ boys full;
Longer than my veins have lain
Dormant —
Deader than loosely-draped muscle mass,
From the rash
Vehicular crash.

Yet my lopsided hips move mountains —
These snowy pillows sag with age, yet stand erect.
I wag my torn tongue;
Crook the warped tip of my scapula —
Pointing to whom?
The blame stains your cobbles ruby red
And don’t think I don’t remember
Every word you’ve never said.

Busted locks need
No working key.
I heard you’re hiring
Bitchy bimbos to bench-press
Baseless silver coins;
Weighting down
The open eyes
Of the ferried dead.

“Styx” © Jane Bled


What is your take on the prompt “Styx”? Please share your work in the comments.

Thank you for reading.