American Gothic, by Chris Sparks
American Gothic by Grant Wood (USA) 1930
Oh – the blessed joy of hardship
Clothed cantankerous – rigorously stitched
To itch the hide with gritted guilt
Our skin so tight as if to snap
Or tear if emotion should appear
To crack at half a happy smile
We stand cold stoned still for
The long hard mile – while
We keep it shut – hold it in –
The lust – the sin – the wetted
Tongue or pouty lip shrivel at the lover’s kiss
Stand rigid frigid – silent as God’s angry angels
Shady subtle shifts of air – stealthy
Sly and ancient old – knives out
Swish swish – skinning souls
Chris Sparks is quite an old person but new to creative writing. He comes from East London but has ended up in Sligo Ireland. For many years he worked as a political theorist. Now he finds that (weirdly) every dark thing that what once was theoretical seems to be becoming actual. So, for his sanity and soul, he has decided to come at things from another angle and this is why he writes poetry.
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