Carol's Oats

Poetic riffs on horror tales

of love igniting that impales

then leaves you hanging in the void,

a hell you can't kill or avoid.

The wild oats she could have sown

Were hers to seize so she could own

revenge on rapers of her soul.

But she had bought a Golden Bowl.

The crack left love words seeping through;

they left a sediment that grew

until the salts stuck in her throat;

her heart sank in the sinking boat.

Her hell was constant... but to think

she could have sipped the drunken drink

of wild oats, that nemesis,

that joyful anagnorisis.

 

 

9.10.12

 

LRH

9.10.12

 

From: Gershon Hepner <gwhepner@yahoo.com>

 To: linda hepner <lrhepner@yahoo.com>

Sent: Monday, September 10, 2012 8:25 AM

 Subject: not enough love

 

NOT ENOUGH LOVE

 

To give oneself away in exchange

 

for not enough love while sowing wild Oates

 

provides the donor with short change,

 

having burnt with all bridges the bottoms of boats.

 

 

 

Joyce Carol Oates, intereviewed in “By the Book” in the NYTBR on 9/9/12, has previously written:

 

 

 

The worst thing: to give yourself away in exchange for not enough love.

 

 

 

9/10/12                        #11339