You can
Open your arms
to the winds of the night
Drown yourself
In the depths of the past
Wave your hands
On the side of the curb

But it will never
bring you stillness
bring you love
bring you home

Stop dreaming of first loves
Your honeymoon was
Never going to happen

That first kiss was day one
Out of one thousand
In a countdown to heartbreak

Don’t you dare tattoo his name
On your untouched skin
He’s going to leave

Get ahold of your vertigo
Find yourself a compass
And drive far away

The fall IS bad
And down IS down

He was never going to stay
A broken battery doesn’t do much good
To someone who runs fine on their own

Pick up the clothes you left on the floor
And forget

Let it hit you
That he’s lying so beautifully
Next to me

goodness is more powerful than evil
never hurt a child
the meek shall inherit the earth
love is, luck is, skin is,
we never have to hurt ourselves
to feel our love for someone,
we spoke to the evil, it said
that it was too evil, it said it
was fed up of the evil and that it
just wanted to go. everyone who
is kind and gentle helps goodness.

-

" You have no real sense of meter,
your rhyming is non-existent
and you spell like a brat,
following no rules"

Rules?

i didnt know i had to follow
any rules, 'cept the ones in my
head that represent limitation

"Well, you need to read up
on some of the more classic
"recognized" poets—
Learn the Proper Etiquette !"

Dood,

i have read more than a few lines
of that finer moem-age poem-age,
and if you want to write about why
roses are red on fine sheets of poet paper
with a fountain pen in the fashion of Kipling—

Cool;

i will more likely write about how well Violet blew
over the top of a half empty jug of bourbon with
a ball point pen that skips more or less
in the style of Bukowski—

and then someone can say that
we had both written poems
about Colorful Flowers...



© 2020
.

-

That ******
Mirror—

the thought of faces in humanity
showing scars of cast'd regularity
now mutes my expressions ;
~
jovial faces display smooth contours,
riverbeds of smiles and amusement,
a'flow— gleefully downstream

sullen faces carve heavy heart canyons,
white rapids pushing difficult rocks
in opposing directions
~
all of this scribbled down
in short-hand by the
Surveyors of Time.

—

i now relax my
composure
to this—

carefully drawn maps of
experiences, upon glance

face to face, year by year,
smoothed and unfolded

ever so slow melts
my candle, abreast

whilst smiling my bones
with an approval
from Death...


© 2020


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