A SMALL, HIGH CLOUD

Once love reaches a fever pitch,
It’s an embarrassment to everybody.
Imagination explodes in dirty jokes
And life becomes pornography with clothes on.
Banal phrases like “doing it” take over the mind
Until the only solution is icy austerity,
And the frowning and the hate
Which makes it tumble down.

Kill love! Kill sex!
Kill poetry! And please kill my sexy ex!
Give me a sex-icon who lives on the moon.
Make sex impossible. Not something that might happen soon.
Please tell romance and song to shut up.
All I need is a wooden cup.
Send me on my way.
If you love me, look for me.
I’ll return as a small, high cloud one day.

 

 

 

 

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2 Comments

  1. Andrew said,

    April 24, 2015 at 2:18 am

    I love the closing lines of this poem:

    Send me on my way.
    If you love me, look for me.
    I’ll return as a small, high cloud one day.

    They are slightly disturbing, and reminiscent of the last lines of “Cello Song” by Nick Drake. I was going to post the YouTube but then I re-read your thoughts about Romance and Song and decided not to.

    What do you plan to fill the wooden cup with?

    • thomasbrady said,

      April 24, 2015 at 1:02 pm

      Thanks, Andrew.

      The wooden cup is for eating, drinking, washing.

      I hope the ‘small high cloud’ imparts the significance of love lost.


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