The Delusional Suite

The Delusional Suite

Grand Delusions

Lost in sleepwalking halls.
A grand piano, stage light;
none of the above. I open a door.
A breath breaks mooring,
finds my shores.
I know where I am now.
Where had I got to (or with whom)
before this moment?
Brought home
by the sound of his breathing.
You can tell a good man
from the sound of his breathing.


Red Emperor Delusions

Fishing line catches your boots.
You trip on your own delusion,
fall flat on that rocky tale – a married man.
A lure is a pretty piece of torture.


Amputated Delusions

No-one wants a scene.
No-one wants a pirate song
precisely when it’s needed.
Cold hook; wooden kick;
beard black with rage.
The daggers come out.

In the morning,
hopes that all will be forgotten
but a parrot repeats every syllable.

We never wanted a scene,
sweet, amputated sailor.
We limped around one,
then fell off the plank.
I was a poor treasure chest.
I miss your marauding.

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About sandrathibodeaux

Poet and Playwright
This entry was posted in Miscellaneous Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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