Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Will I remember the reminder? To turn on my brain again I woulda thought I'd be kinder. Dead red-eye at the day's end Leave the silver in the sink Let the dishes sit and soak a dream Spot the terror in your rearview So far closer than it may seem Spot the drips drip dripping down And I'm speaking like a black-white clown Full of thoughts, but they're in your voice Nothing better than a broken toy This kid is churning like a big machine Just like a cheetah on a T.V. screen He's just an elemental, mental boy Iguana man: search and you'll destroy Make up a letter from the magazine Pair of nail scissors and the short clippings Nothing so near and dear and true to you as how familiar smells the duct tape glue You know nobody told the bumble-bee And now you know that it was news to me Strung out coyote stepping off a cliff And he could fly except that he's scared stiff You know I'd like to change my name Into the curlicue, ampersand So that I'll always stay an inkblot stain Until the books all rot and turn to sand. III
0
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
Clippings
Will I remember the reminder? To turn on my brain again I woulda thought I'd be kinder. Dead red-eye at the day's end Leave the silver in the sink Let the dishes sit and soak a dream Spot the terror in your rearview So far closer than it may seem Spot the drips drip dripping down And I'm speaking like a black-white clown Full of thoughts, but they're in your voice Nothing better than a broken toy This kid is churning like a big machine Just like a cheetah on a T.V. screen He's just an elemental, mental boy Iguana man: search and you'll destroy Make up a letter from the magazine Pair of nail scissors and the short clippings Nothing so near and dear and true to you as how familiar smells the duct tape glue You know nobody told the bumble-bee And now you know that it was news to me Strung out coyote stepping off a cliff And he could fly except that he's scared stiff You know I'd like to change my name Into the curlicue, ampersand So that I'll always stay an inkblot stain Until the books all rot and turn to sand. III
Written by
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 10:17 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem