My love is now a swamp
in the Poem Factory.
See, I've been keeping mean
on lack of sleep and ****
************ at yesterdays;
an old dog's tricks,
an old man's routine.
The lung of water is thick
with chemicals; still-water bleach.
I've been trying to clean up my act,
you see;
bend my back into a yoga pose
and question what it means to be free.
I haven't found the answer yet,
but it comes in the moments
I don't question it.
It comes in the wake
of a happenstance lyric;
some eloquence through anxiety.
My love is angry heat,
a mirage across the street.
See, desperation leaves a scent
and an aura of hopelessness;
my dreams of ***
lift up from my tea,
steam buffeting from me.
The pipeline swallowed air
in the Poem Factory,
solitude, the hopeful dream;
isolation, the reality.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
My love is now a swamp
in the Poem Factory.
See, I've been keeping mean
on lack of sleep and ****
************ at yesterdays;
an old dog's tricks,
an old man's routine.
The lung of water is thick
with chemicals; still-water bleach.
I've been trying to clean up my act,
you see;
bend my back into a yoga pose
and question what it means to be free.
I haven't found the answer yet,
but it comes in the moments
I don't question it.
It comes in the wake
of a happenstance lyric;
some eloquence through anxiety.
My love is angry heat,
a mirage across the street.
See, desperation leaves a scent
and an aura of hopelessness;
my dreams of ***
lift up from my tea,
steam buffeting from me.
The pipeline swallowed air
in the Poem Factory,
solitude, the hopeful dream;
isolation, the reality.
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