Man In A Bottle

I recently came across this in a cleaning frenzy.  I wrote it in 1996.  It made me smile, because I wrote poetry then.  And now I write prose.


Man in a Bottle

a poem by db mcneill


He will find her there

pressed between the pages

like a forgotten photo

or a postcard

rich with rhyme.

Her poetry is spinning, spinning

spinning into prose,

unlike anything imagined or pecked out in his smoky room.

Her blood stains

will never wash from his sheets

nor the wine from his floor.

She knocked it there

with her laughing hands

when she still believed

she was heavy in his heart.