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k_fayePoems
so, i saw a piece of you the other day. i found you out in the yard. and. i used to find you                 everyday, but, we are the inside of a silverware drawer when the lights go out. We are an old can of soda we are the underside of a frying pan.the hinges of medicine cabinet mirror.the back of a fake hand gun a pocketfull of chemical hand warmers The washing label on shrunken, favorite, sweatshirt- storeboughtstarmarketpumpkinpie. Brooding at the breakfast table. a telephone that rings when you don’t want it to. we are nylon down vest- reversible-  tucked inbetween arm and oilskin hat. We are dead houseplants. homemade radiator covers, feet under the covers we are  waking up we are slacking off in class.hating other people.wading into bathtubwater. I. hurt her daughter polished like a powderhorn.hurting like a can of vegetarian baked beans. like an old pocketknife. we are pantsless in the hallway. we are backyard garden. we are tripping over the recyclables on a sunday.     we are good radio song. we wanted garlic.butter we got hotdogs instead. That’s supermarket poetry. It hit us. golden and radiant- as the smiles in the   cereal aisle. And it was cold outside. the milk froze in the car
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Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
someday, i saw you around
so, i saw a piece of you the other day. i found you out in the yard. and. i used to find you                 everyday, but, we are the inside of a silverware drawer when the lights go out. We are an old can of soda we are the underside of a frying pan.the hinges of medicine cabinet mirror.the back of a fake hand gun a pocketfull of chemical hand warmers The washing label on shrunken, favorite, sweatshirt- storeboughtstarmarketpumpkinpie. Brooding at the breakfast table. a telephone that rings when you don’t want it to. we are nylon down vest- reversible-  tucked inbetween arm and oilskin hat. We are dead houseplants. homemade radiator covers, feet under the covers we are  waking up we are slacking off in class.hating other people.wading into bathtubwater. I. hurt her daughter polished like a powderhorn.hurting like a can of vegetarian baked beans. like an old pocketknife. we are pantsless in the hallway. we are backyard garden. we are tripping over the recyclables on a sunday.     we are good radio song. we wanted garlic.butter we got hotdogs instead. That’s supermarket poetry. It hit us. golden and radiant- as the smiles in the   cereal aisle. And it was cold outside. the milk froze in the car
k_faye
Written by
k_faye
33/M/American
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
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