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Bleeding History

Posted October 13th, 2010 by Aaron Johnson in Poetry
The room’s vibrations
Are electric on her skin
Through the thin layer of fabric
Lining the soles of her feet
50% cotton, 50% polyester
 
The record jumps and skips
There are deep, parallel scratches
In the plastic sheen
Of the ancient gramophone
His Master’s Voice
 
And the half-drunk jazz singer
The speakeasy’s secret joy
Is a blip on an indifferent cosmos
Repeating through the crackling interstices of History
Aural (soft and warm), into the infinite
 
“If I had one more-”
“If I had one more-”
“If I had one more-”
“If I had one more-”
“If I had one more-”

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Thank you

Posted October 15th, 2010 by Shikha Sabharwal

I guess that all,

Thank you.