Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
RenemutumePoems
any holiday can go on and commit suicide in some old **** coconut postcard, I reckon. it’s alrite here. it’s not burning and the sand is a lame type of concrete, but it has a lot of life. there’s even coral here, I probably need you to call me up and have you explain it to me but it’s here all the same; there’s howling monkeys that can open yoking orange suns, that don’t know what to do, we wont ignore them though; they keep on skipping around pulling the tide up to our seats-like they like the raw smell we give off its normal in the city but unknown here we fight- nothing the world dives into itself and see’s that it still sings the resort keeps on beating behind the eyes of the falling sunset the calls of our skin are catnip to the flying things and moving things we walk across the beach as it follows from 11 to 3 and 4am. it dies and leaves the moon screaming in sirens within the black distance of the shore the vehicle that comes as we sleep holds open the road with our eyes and remains eternally as we wake.
0
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
bleach
any holiday can go on and commit suicide in some old **** coconut postcard, I reckon. it’s alrite here. it’s not burning and the sand is a lame type of concrete, but it has a lot of life. there’s even coral here, I probably need you to call me up and have you explain it to me but it’s here all the same; there’s howling monkeys that can open yoking orange suns, that don’t know what to do, we wont ignore them though; they keep on skipping around pulling the tide up to our seats-like they like the raw smell we give off its normal in the city but unknown here we fight- nothing the world dives into itself and see’s that it still sings the resort keeps on beating behind the eyes of the falling sunset the calls of our skin are catnip to the flying things and moving things we walk across the beach as it follows from 11 to 3 and 4am. it dies and leaves the moon screaming in sirens within the black distance of the shore the vehicle that comes as we sleep holds open the road with our eyes and remains eternally as we wake.
Renemutume
Written by
Renemutume
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 7:55 AM UTC
Request permission to use this poem