at the door
or retire through the window.
That will suffice.
Better yet, via my ears
make your retreat as swiftly
and in neat compactness
as a ready ball of orange wax
or next time I spit,
roll out over my tongue.
Or next when through my eyeball
I aim a withering look,
consider that the cue
for you to take your leave.

I’ve tried re-working this strange little poem. I wanted to develop the idea of exiting from physical space through architectural entities (doors, windows) and then exiting from internality through bodily orifices. Yes, yes, possibly all very Freudian; Lacanian too, if I had added a mirror in there. Perhaps the window can posit the ramble in a liminal, almost-Lacanian zone.

Twitter: @BeadedQuill
Facebook: BeadedQuill
Books:
Emily’s Poems for Modern Boys 
Shining in Brightness

Advertisements