Poetry by Erin Lynn
Lilith on the Subway
The noon train moans through the valley of ashes
toward the gray skyline, liquid silver in daylight.
In the tunnel her reflection warns of the year
that starved the sex from off her bones.
She serves oysters rockefeller at the dinner
shift and thinks of Montauk, brine and storm.
By night, the other passengers have aged,
having digested and discarded the morning paper.
Another stack of bones is not news,
the bulge in every pocket is a gun or a gun.
Lilith would prefer a train of oysters,
each with his nacre and no taste for chatter.
Eat this dinner and forgive our kind.
The noon train moans through the valley of ashes
toward the gray skyline, liquid silver in daylight.
In the tunnel her reflection warns of the year
that starved the sex from off her bones.
She serves oysters rockefeller at the dinner
shift and thinks of Montauk, brine and storm.
By night, the other passengers have aged,
having digested and discarded the morning paper.
Another stack of bones is not news,
the bulge in every pocket is a gun or a gun.
Lilith would prefer a train of oysters,
each with his nacre and no taste for chatter.
Eat this dinner and forgive our kind.
Wearing Daydream Nation
Wooow, you are beautiful! Such a beautiful woman, I liek your blog so much. Great and interesting pictures as well and very inspiring. Keep uo with your blog and can't wait to see your new post! Looking forward! :D
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Lovely photos and beautiful poetry.
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