A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms
A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms
A metaphor’s a gentle curse
that darkens life with soft implying:
or so I learned from reading verse.
A blanket is a woollen hearse.
A lover’s word is widows’ sighing.
A metaphor’s a gentle curse.
And sex is just a human purse
with prices, goods, and people buying,
or so I learned from reading verse:
transactions made we can’t reverse:
a one-way street, a kind of dying.
A metaphor’s a gentle curse,
though dying is a friendly nurse
with copper coins to ease your crying,
or so I learned from reading verse.
I’m left to wonder which is worse:
to hear your truth, or see you lying.
A metaphor’s a gentle curse,
or so I learned from reading verse.
Thomas Thurman is from Cambridge, but moved to Philadelphia when he met and married his muse.