Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

The queen surveys the chessboard
The pawns tremble
The king bends his head and steps back
She sweeps the board and cuts them all down
Bloodied massacre
It is just a game isn't it?
What makes it real?
The pain?
The pain is confusing
A dark wooded joke
It's a delicate problem it is
A case of being too sensitive
A case of imagining what is not there
Or so she says
Like dark horned unicorns and violent Santa clauses
Vicious tooth fairies
Who lie in wait
Preparing to pounce
On a small child in a big dark world
No matter
The sensible sharp edged knife sorts out the confusion
As does the drink
The cigarette helps
Inhale and exhale the pain.