My crave is not a butterfly

My crave is hunger
    hard as granite — carved with sin,
    it’s dark and cellar-dank
My crave is heavy:
    rotten wood,
    it’s headstone letters — lichen-filled
    it’s senseless skin
    it’s drum-skin-tense
My crave is pale, a withered skull,
    it’s hand-in-pocket-urge.
My crave is not a butterfly.

Rotten wood, covered with moss by Ivan Shishkin

Rotten wood, covered with moss by Ivan Shishkin

For Kerry’s platform at Toads I write this inspired by the Leonard Cohen video.

September 8, 2015

19 responses to “My crave is not a butterfly

  1. you definitely captured in this piece of ‘crave’ the crude and coldness described in leonard cohen’s oratory as to how words or names must not entice with emotion or lust but only the cerebral coolness of explication.

  2. We have to watch those cravings, I would say tame them, but can we really? We can though keep them under a leash. The second stanza really does it for me. The rottingness, the death that comes with it. Also, another list poem, really.

  3. My neck clenched as I read it and I felt the words. Yes, the hunger , the crave is not small, light or colorful. It is, instead, an entity all its own.


  4. What a wonderful response to Cohen’s words. Every poet must remain true to his/her own craving.

  5. “it’s senseless skin”

    I love what you implied here. It’s sense, less skin. Something you feel but don’t/can’t touch. That’s exactly what a craving is. And if you can touch it, then it’s best you keep your hands in your pocket if you want to avoid it. Or maybe there’s another reason your hand is in your pocket.

    No, cravings are never butterflies, are they?

    I love that you start out with the fact that your craving is a hunger, because what I crave most often is sushi. 😛 So I loved reading this lusty poem as if you’re all worked up and drooling over this immense desire for a certain thing you’re just dying to eat.

  6. Pingback: Suggestion Saturday: September 19, 2015 | On The Other Hand·

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