consonantberry

The Alien Air of Man and Tears

In Poetry on April 23, 2012 at 12:26 am

The therapy mutters verbsalt
Into the never-healed wounds
Of hush, and tearpucks swell
The repression-clogged ducts
Into a dimeflow-sprouted leak
That ruptures the reservoir
Open wide in a puddingwhaled
Meltdown of blubbering wail.
Luckily, the therapist’s kisspit
Of unclean tells comes equipped
With a luxuriance of kleenex
To wipe away the unexpected
Breach in the dam of a man
Who can never cry in comfort
In a world where men don’t cry.

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