Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Dilettantes

I press the broken bottle of my love
against your throat and dream that you’ll scream “Cut
me deep! I want to lose my head!” Above
the rain and traffic lights, the homeless nut
our parents prayed to Sundays cogitates:
so much thought lost or misdirected. Hiss
of tires, a whiff of garlic grilling, crates
and drunks both rotting in our alley. Kiss
this wound: my mouth. It’s bleeding you-know-what
and must be stopped. A couple walking by
peeks quick, then turns away. But in their gut
they know they’re just like us: go home, get high,
have sex, and maybe then she’ll paint, and he’ll
compose, though neither touches what they feel.
 
 
Thomas Zimmerman teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits two literary magazines at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, MI. His chapbook In Stereo: Thirteen Sonnets and Some Fire Music appeared from the “Camel Saloon Books on Blog” in 2012. Tom’s website: http://thomaszimmerman.wordpress.com/

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Categories: Poetry

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