Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2016
There's a house where the world
has stopped dialing...
But a rotary phone, that
has my number.
and plunders my unavailable
daily.

We blink like opening a mystery.
But we neverΒ Β brush the canvas
of any inspiration.
we gather in the fields of our golden jokes
and each the other are about
how nothing is the same that now
we see what eyes deny
jellyfish
and cotton
swabs.

but there's trees and eggs.
it's nothing how we remember
love and hate.
slow things are voices to recall.
but the matter of their wisdom
is bleach and peaches.
and perhaps a flightless
squab.

II

to endure is to be a living thing.
and to love is to die more
willingly.

but nothing procures the reality
like a dream.... and we cluster
precisely where we diffuse
Unkindly.

III

Let us walk where the treasures march
in impoverished enmity. but know
the different things that sanity
conspires to reveal.
we can be madcap and foreign
to our native selves -
but never once be alien
to what it means
in hell.

IV

heaven is a kind of grace that forgets you.
and trees and eggs
are something else
entirely

despite you.
Third Eye Candy
Written by
Third Eye Candy  M/USA
(M/USA)   
477
     Bianca Reyes and Third Eye Candy
Please log in to view and add comments on poems