broken poems

the supplicant kneels

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Wed, 30 Apr 2008 14:30:49 +0000

The day funereal.

The heavy sky sees me elsewhere -

buried deep within the hospital's antiseptic bowels.

unhallowed ground

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 16:50:36 +0000

Weeks hardly anything;
Nothing breaks this ice-cracked glass,
this pre-winter silence, unhallowed, frost-brown earth.

sous-silence, untranslatable

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 16:47:57 +0000

What am I if not a sigh – blate.
A brief exhalation that pares the soft half-closed barrier of your lips.
I am the ever steady silence;
the fill the space where I once was; me your hungry ghost.

great holocausts of you | mona lisa smile

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Fri, 28 Mar 2008 16:46:57 +0000

Years I have carried that silver spoon
engraved in careful script with the word “Happy”.
I keep it in a silver butter-dish by my bedside;
a sacred object; a small piece of you.

special delivery

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 13:11:15 +0000

Lover’s eyes open their salty spigot;
cry a sea in which we gladly drown.
How does a lover cry against a broken, falling, failing brick wall in the city…
A rushing by bicycle sweeps through the heart’s blood,
sending shrieking crimson drops into the air,

march letter... la belle et la bete

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Tue, 04 Mar 2008 19:20:12 +0000

Forget what they taught or didn't teach you in school.

It is of no use here. It is me-you we-two alone and mute.

You always said you were La Bete and I La Belle ~

the 5.58 p.m. train home

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Sun, 24 Feb 2008 22:36:05 +0000

If ever I could be a speeding train on rims electrical I’d be a wreck,
Poles flicker by easily as the late afternoon creeps in beneath the blinds
where I retreat in the after in the ictal in the inbetween - the thin place.
It’s twenty degrees and all I can see, think, is last summer.
Love, how we filled the moments with our nonsense non-love love.

moving the river

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Sun, 24 Feb 2008 22:32:55 +0000

The viaduct is not listening.
It simply passes by easily as if it had witnessed nothing.
Not I, it whispers. No lovers’ tales told:
It is your best-friend and ally –

crucifix avenue

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 22:47:39 +0000

Months prior I sat before it –
some ornate, tacky crucifix all shellacked gold.
Even Lenten draped, polished, robed,
It regarded me mockingly –

access denied

sadi ranson-polizzotti — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 22:46:30 +0000

Do you have all that you need?
Or do you still feel the bleed of the cut?
Blood rich-thick iron-rich; it will kill you in the end.
The end never does come tho; the future indefinite.