another poem.another mind left swept carpet leaking.

Whispering to Mother saint texas addiction city

There is nothing here in Kansas

the walls are all blue

the streets are too clean

I cant seem to find my face

in all this snow

the snow is melting now

it is something like spring

Youth is in love

where does that leave the old

the beggars

the dogs with cold brown eyes

I am selfish

with a fishing pole

looking searching

heating

for Love

the tall and beautiful girl

is in a red Cherokee SUV

4 wheel drive

Can we get lost in the snow

the lake is frozen

I kiss your brow

Ah,

Dear lover,

I know I never wrote you that orange letter

but I have written many

poems

dedicated

fuelled

inspired

by your longless

by your destination

that left me sad

smoking a cigarettes underneath an american flag all tangled up in its own stripes

Even now I think of your face

and how your nose was corrupted and shifted up

you're making the coffee cold

I must get back to the poem

I must get back on the road

I must

leave

and tie up my boots and starve myself in the mountains of Zen Buddhism

There is something ambient

about this weather

even the animals have colds

I saw a goose in my neighbours yard

a cop chased me out of the closed off park

I just wanted to see the frozen lake

I just wanted to walk the prosthetic beach

I just wanted to climb a frosted tree

stand with the canopy

envision I as a bee

or a bird

or a wasp

or a fleet of geese

moving South

“are you heading to texas?”

I ask the sorrow'd by cold mother goose

but she only looked confused

and walked past

and took flight

I found a bug

crawling on my lips

as I slept on the carpet

all the lights were on

maybe God was looking for something

My mind

I am in love with the sea

I am in love with the idea of women

I am in love with

wisdom

and serenity

I am in love with the ambient mysteries of my own mind

knock knock

I rang the apartment bell too

no answer

I shall crawl through the bathroom window

of my subconscious mind

the dishes are *****

and the small plastic thick television

is preaching God

and a large black man is sweating

waving his handkerchief

I wonder where God is

so I peeked underneath the diminishing green couch

with wooden spokes

sticking out

and I looked in the cabinets

and only found paper plates and wine glasses

then I climbed the roof

and checked under the moon

and I asked an angel

where nobility was

and she laughed

and finished painting her nails.

Request permission to use this poem

Explore

Hello PoetryVoting

Write