with leeches
with lead tips
lead tipped leeches
drain it out through my
veins
I am better without it
a strange relaxation
overtakes my muscles
when they squeeze the leeches
over the paper
and there it is
the art of my being
it is gone
and I sleep
exhausted
while my dreams
wanted or no
replenish the art
the thought
that flows and touches all
that was drawn
so graceful and red
on the paper
it will happen again
when I wake
because the ever building
swimming red
overwhelms my brain
©julie simonson 2009
"the thought / that flows and touches all" has a funny antiquated voice to me, in comparison with the rest of this. Additionally I'm not sure it advances your message. Does that make sense? Listen carefully for those lines that make your forward momentum stall out. I see them in many of these poems.
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