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Neverending Love
Her gustatory love affair
country song of complicated,
twangy and dysfunctionated,
dawns as baby who’s tasty-snared;
carbohydrates, choc’late pudding,
nothing taboo in the putting.
Limitless, showed to her they cared.
Infants learn in simple language,
eating love while adding baggage.
Pudged as she is, and unprepared,
missed not by now distracted parents,
others' sweets like ass with carrots.
Grown to teens, naive, unaware
dynamics of the bait and switch
how fawning leads to suck my dick.
Weed, pills, booze, 8-ball concierge
guest in dissociative hotel
a clueless prisoner of hell.
A wagonned* man, robust and fair
cocoons her for a good six months
until his sentence with a punch.
She, trained well, resignation wears
with her marriage, childbirth, and bruises
knows not that it’s she who chooses.
Roadworn, vacuum-eyed, dealed despair**
to watershed of near-death sick
to ghosting exploitative dicks.
Troubled cushion of baby’s heir,
lost in sweet, salt, sour, savory
brazen gustatory slavery.
Poem is in modified form (first lines may or may not be understood as an independent poem) of The Constanza, created by Connie Marcum Wong, which consists of five or more 3-line stanzas. Each line has a set meter of eight syllables. The first lines of all the stanzas can be read successively as an independent poem, with the rest of the poem weaved in to express a deeper meaning. The first lines convey a theme written in monorhyme, while the second and third lines of each stanza rhyme together.
Notes:
This is semi-autobiographical with poetic license.
*wagonned is my term for “on the wagon” or not drinking
** paraphrased line from Bob Dylan lyric
Punam is today’s host for dVerse’ Tuesday Poetics. Punam says:
I would love a presence of food in your poems. You can employ any form but touch upon food; vegetables, fruits, meat, dairy, desserts you love or hate. It could be about why you love/abhor cooking, your most memorable/miserable meal ever.
Like a blues song, Li, and heavy with the weariness, disillusionment of experience, where one sweet leads to another. Food here is a symbol and metaphor of something more than appetite, corruption of innocent desire by those who feast on others’. A tremendous write.
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Not only a semi-autobiographical poem, but also a complex form, Lisa! Well done! I agree with these lines:
‘Infants learn in simple language,
eating love while adding baggage’
and what a journey – I think there are quite a few of us who have been clueless prisoners of hell.
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“gustatory”
had to google that one
Interesting poem
much love
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