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ashby-brownPoems
The check comes Clean, thin and crisp Stamped in the rectangle Are the numbers That are either too high Or too low I stare at the lines that make these numerical symbols Depressed and curious and foaming at the soul I inhale in bubbled air and flame retardant love Weighed down by how much control these lines have Dish washer's bend their backs like they always have Their eyes waxen and woeful staining a cracked mirror Echoes of the ten o'clock news and banter over power lines Force me to recall simpler times when youth was not so fleeting Clean In my back right pocket The salt of the ocean Burrows into my hair Tempered face with lines resembling ravines She chose not to play the radio so we could talk In the back of my mind I envision Miles And miles And miles Of backed up cars All stuck For the same reason Madness can only be accepted by the many if framed Perfectly Cream spilt moon Mother Nature's con Ocean blue hue Dangling forfeit desert Snow-covered saloon Living and breathing Bending and dying Unable to tell the difference Between Midnight and Noon There, the money is put away Taken out of the right Into a place where venality is imbued With congratulatory undertones Out of sight More numbers, more signs, more papers All to be saved up Used only for emergencies later The payday The big pay off All the "Just another day" sayings Burning to ash To the wake-up call of a ****** off alarm clock What is next?
0
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
Stuck For the Same Reason
The check comes Clean, thin and crisp Stamped in the rectangle Are the numbers That are either too high Or too low I stare at the lines that make these numerical symbols Depressed and curious and foaming at the soul I inhale in bubbled air and flame retardant love Weighed down by how much control these lines have Dish washer's bend their backs like they always have Their eyes waxen and woeful staining a cracked mirror Echoes of the ten o'clock news and banter over power lines Force me to recall simpler times when youth was not so fleeting Clean In my back right pocket The salt of the ocean Burrows into my hair Tempered face with lines resembling ravines She chose not to play the radio so we could talk In the back of my mind I envision Miles And miles And miles Of backed up cars All stuck For the same reason Madness can only be accepted by the many if framed Perfectly Cream spilt moon Mother Nature's con Ocean blue hue Dangling forfeit desert Snow-covered saloon Living and breathing Bending and dying Unable to tell the difference Between Midnight and Noon There, the money is put away Taken out of the right Into a place where venality is imbued With congratulatory undertones Out of sight More numbers, more signs, more papers All to be saved up Used only for emergencies later The payday The big pay off All the "Just another day" sayings Burning to ash To the wake-up call of a ****** off alarm clock What is next?
Written by
ashby-brown
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 2:19 AM UTC
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