The ceiling is libidinous
It curls and swells
and holds
lightly to decorum
The floor is knotty
But sound and square
It promises
to keep behaving
49 chairs are in position
They were prised open
An hour ago
They are not comfortable
Under a man’s arm
A bag is filling up with air
Pipes hang over his knee
Skinny and awkward
His fingers cradle a hollow bone
The bellow is breathing
Dust molecules, huddled in corners
Turn to face the music
The chairs roll onto tiptoe
The ceiling cups her breast
The floor forgets his promise.
The ceiling cups her breast
The floor forgets his promise.
Pam Morrison
Now, that's a satisfying ending -- the way it reaches back to the previous stanzas makes the poem compact. Deftly interwoven, Pam. Kudos. Cheers.
ReplyDeleteI like it real good. Have my issues with the sexy ceiling, and some of the detail, but I respond to the chairs, the floor, the dust (though molecules?)... I like the way everything in its own way sits up and takes notice, and then some. It's got vitality. He rawe!
ReplyDeleteI agree, it is a vital poem, a sexy poem. I love the libidinous ceiling ...! and I love the way the 'chairs are prised open' and aren't comfortable! The first poem to make me feel something for a bunch of chairs. Love the floor forgetting his promise too.... Great stuff Pam.
ReplyDeleteThanks guys. I appreciate your comments!
ReplyDelete