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Mar 2015 · 449
A Boy Was Born
Jonny Fastball Mar 2015
A boy was born with a heart made of wood

Hopes for love ablaze seemed almost too good

Her lips danced over him, two searing wicks

His soul she toyed with, mere pick up sticks

Kindling burns brightest, for the shortest of time

Poetic love devours without or with rhyme
Mar 2015 · 448
Deep
Jonny Fastball Mar 2015
I dig, you dig, we dig, he digs, she digs, they dig.
It's not a beautiful poem, but it's very deep
Feb 2015 · 529
Sheet Music
Jonny Fastball Feb 2015
SHEET MUSIC

“I know not how music notes are to be read”…

“True music is learned, not taught”, she said…

“But for the silent sheet music unspoken in bed,

“Lyrical lips whisper outside of one’s head”…

Shotgun sips, cream soda lips

Cocked back hips with back arching grips…

With xylophone ribs’ comes music sampled.

Trials and tribs’, stomped on and trampled,

Feedback, reverb, limitless distortion

Acoustic ****** brown eyed contortion

Almost criminal, partners in crime,

Come on arrest kids lovestoned with time

“I know not how music notes are to be read”…

“True music is learned, not taught”, she said…

“But for the silent sheet music unspoken in bed,

“Lyrical lips whisper outside of one’s head”…

A boy was born with a heart made of wood.

Hope for love ablaze seemed almost too good.

The alphabet spilled out for him to see,

He wordlessly loved her from A to Z.

Bonnie and Clyde became mister and misses.

Both of them heart thieves, stolen moments and kisses.

Two partners went about forgetting hard time.

They were helpless but to love— a victimless crime.

With xylophone ribs, came music sampled.

Trials and tribs’, were stomped on and trampled.

The once silent sheet music, played out now instead,

While lyrical lips whispered outside of his head.

But he knew not how music notes were to be read.

“True music is heard, not learned”, she said.

Her lips played over him, two searing wicks.

His soul she lifted, mere pickup sticks.

Poetic love is the sweetest of rhyme

If but for only once upon a time…
Feb 2015 · 734
A Muse Meant
Jonny Fastball Feb 2015
A MUSE MEANT
With sticky sweet, ****** brown eyes
Comes endless nights, with ***** and stick sighs.
You course through vessels, pale contrast skin
With a little gasp, comes underneath grins.
Staircase spirals, stolen glances, everlong lashes
Bottom lip biting conversation with dashes-
On and lower and lower and on-
Cigarette snuffs and now I’m gone
To drip and slip, release and grip-
Shy mischief nibbles and strawberry lips.
Now I’ve done gone into murky beginnings
Slinky, ******, backboneless endings.
Line after line, the trail sure does grow
The plunger pusher’s heart with continuous flow.  
Sedate, irate, mercifully numb
Turn the page with only a thumb.
Dance on irises, flecks of honey brown gold
Take that lip and forever hold.
One above another till the surface comes
Drown me before I can count all the sums.
Addition is love, so too addiction
One plus one, subtract constriction.
The mix tape girl’s heart a falling sparrow
Doesn’t this vein seem a bit too narrow?
I’ll try nonetheless……or lessthenone
To fit this silver mouth in with haunting fun.
Shadows move but I grab a hold
Curl and breathe is all I’m told.  
I run my hands through cold sweat hair
I won’t let go, I would not dare.
Your timelapse kiss, someday I’ll miss
As I flatline, collapse, evaporate and list……

— The End —