Gillian Prew

Waking to sunrises and the lure of disaster
I dreamt he said the rings were fantasy;
as if I had made the pages suggestive
and so much collapsing from my looking at it.
So much anxiety to sleep, and the day
roofed with unsolved murders. I would love –
despite the white at my temple still hidden but,
with the creep of ambition, it spreads
like parched earth under an inexorable sun. Nothing
is the disease to which I have succumbed; dragged
by its empty pathology to these compressive dreams –
these deep and indomitable disfigurements.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.

Posted on December 14, 2012, in Gillian Prew, POETRY and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 3 Comments.

  1. The last of Gillian’s three poems from her chapbook DISCONNECTIONS. All I can say is what a poet. She seduces the senses and makes abstract truths clear. (To borrow and mangle an apothegm from Nietzsche.)

    Read Gillian’s two previous poems from DISCONNECTIONS by clicking the link and following “Older Posts”:

  2. Gillian’s premises and promises in her poems possess an avidity and excitement of lucid awareness,rare these days. A philosophical poet has awakened by the personalism in her developments around her in a diaphanous and authenticity thoughtful way to share with her fans
    of which I am one.

  3. a perfectly seasoned poem by a masterful poet !!!
    deep indomitable disfigurements often sleep inside mirrors (?)

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