Poetry For Our Time

Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason. -Novalis

Elizabeth Taylor trapped in New Jersey

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Three husbands, late
They found videos strewn around her apartment
She got ideas, called the lawn mower man in for special favors
She was a built-in Mrs. Robinson
Grasping onto her menthols, perhaps in her housecoat, a cliché
Perhaps in her best jewelry, Miss Havisham 2.0
All dressed up and nowhere to go
Unless the party comes to her, unless she invites the party in
She fixes herself another scotch
And turns the channel to another soap.


Written by TheUndomestic

February 13, 2009 at 4:07 am

Posted in Uncategorized

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