A Poem by Thomas C. Burgess

Thomas C. Burgess included a note with today’s poem. He said, “This poem is meant to raise questions about society, desire, control and self discovery.” I am happy to report, for those debating whether or not to click on the link, that it does, and does so in a truly memorable fashion.

It could be said that life itself is an addiction, or that existence is the movement from one addiction to another, to another, to another, and to another–all overlapping, conflating, lessening and exaggerating each other, all at the same time. From cradle to grave. In our modern era, when the strength of an individual has been, as Emerson says, “so minutely subdivided and peddled out that it is spilled into drops” which cannot be culled together again, it takes a substance of some strength to make us feel “addicted.” We have become “dormitor[ies] of sorts” housing hibernated desires. Get free, “open the hive,” live, “eradicate the Queen,” ignore the questioning voice in your head and embrace newfound sincerity. At least click on the damn link, it’s more worthwhile than your newsfeed.

The Heart She Handled and Other Poems

The Heart She Handled There I sat in dying grass, sighing open remorse. Forgiven by impulse; I’m still held accountable knowing that intimacy sides with lust yet still wishing that others felt of the night simply wanting things never to fail. Outside of this remains the fact: My veins raised for you torn through and flowing, offering my blood. You licked what praised you. Tasting love then leaving. So feel …continue…