~
Wood grain suspenders on beams of unattractive thought
grasp paper cups holding the morning’s coffee just outside of
smudged glass reflecting off of these prison walls
in the heart of the shopping district,
where everything is on sale
and yet nothing is to be sold
as shoppers take advantage of nap time…and still I sit
Clinging to every hope a mind can cling to,
shadowed by my beliefs that it doesn’t matter when
grays pull years out of youthful smiles wearing ties,
for no good reason and
wasted breaths fall from hapless dreams caving in on the summit
where asphalt spills and curb side deliveries melt
rolling down the window to nothing…and still I sit
Limestone pillars stand guard in fours,
Cozying up to attached railings painted to match, but don’t where
empty tissue boxes wear a gaping mouth of perforated edges,
yawning with all of the enthusiasm of an Japanese translator
at a Metallica concert trying to sing opera in verses…
Collected but unseen or spoken of in black and white words
flickering and waiting a review…and still I sit
Poetry gathers in corners like food crumbs beneath the fridge,
hidden in the dark until the tile floor is replaced as
small piles of words are sifted through but not taken
for the sunlight changes everything
and this is not as cloudy a day as was forecasted,
though the gloom still exists
scribbling non-stop while leaving… and still I sit
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 2:42 PM UTC
~
Wood grain suspenders on beams of unattractive thought
grasp paper cups holding the morning’s coffee just outside of
smudged glass reflecting off of these prison walls
in the heart of the shopping district,
where everything is on sale
and yet nothing is to be sold
as shoppers take advantage of nap time…and still I sit
Clinging to every hope a mind can cling to,
shadowed by my beliefs that it doesn’t matter when
grays pull years out of youthful smiles wearing ties,
for no good reason and
wasted breaths fall from hapless dreams caving in on the summit
where asphalt spills and curb side deliveries melt
rolling down the window to nothing…and still I sit
Limestone pillars stand guard in fours,
Cozying up to attached railings painted to match, but don’t where
empty tissue boxes wear a gaping mouth of perforated edges,
yawning with all of the enthusiasm of an Japanese translator
at a Metallica concert trying to sing opera in verses…
Collected but unseen or spoken of in black and white words
flickering and waiting a review…and still I sit
Poetry gathers in corners like food crumbs beneath the fridge,
hidden in the dark until the tile floor is replaced as
small piles of words are sifted through but not taken
for the sunlight changes everything
and this is not as cloudy a day as was forecasted,
though the gloom still exists
scribbling non-stop while leaving… and still I sit
