Teri Louise Kelly - 6 Poems

Poetry Is Dead

i know baby,
poetry isn/t popular,
popularity is -

though fuck it,
who cares,

i still love
the colour of your
language,

the shape

of your words,

the way you walk

thorough the fire barefoot

hand on hip.



-


Say it

hidden meanings,
between the lines,
blurred facts,
between the lies,
living in a bottle,
an  identikit
of love,


-


Drug Love

smiles frozen,

 night turned

 to morphine;

 mornings

 made of wine

 & apologies.


-

Dead Muse

death/
the artists/s muse,
sutured into
a little red dress/
the coldest kiss,
the final affair/


-


Literary Suicide Machine

words leap

from the portals

of the mind,

suicidal sentences

hitting

the page below -

crushing the silence

of thought –

bloodying the

rules of engagement.


-


words,
the way you
walk through the fire
barefoot,
hand on hip.