Where do all the cabaret nuns go?
Do they steal out into the hail and thunder
on the bones of bad weather
like a deranged glorious ensemble
to banish the ghosts that would otherwise
tear the sky asunder?
Do they acrobat their way
in avenging worship, disguised
in Egyptian wigs and birthday suits?
And whilst all that’s going on,
why is the ocean yawning with sorrow?
Did it swallow more truth
than it could contain,
too fierce and sudden
and open to persuasion?
Don’t ask me, I just work here.
Better yet, ask Rimbaud.
It’s his dream.
© N. Nazir 2021
Written for Shay’s Word Garden where the word pool has been sourced from the poems of Gregory Corso. Words used: acrobat, birthday, bones, Egyptian, fierce, ghost, glorious, nuns, ocean, Rimbaud, sorrow, steal, weather, wig, yawns (changed to yawning).
*I really ought to read some Rimbaud. And I didn’t even know who Gregory Corso was until this prompt. Ask me about grammar though, I know a little bit about that. Though of course, who cares about grammar when you’re writing poetry? 🙂