#43
Poems
1706 published / 43 drafts / 14 hidden
no matter how much spillage of
inspired words are perspired
into poetic
existence,
new ideas push themselves
to the top of the line,
with every eyelash
flutter to falling,
so there seems
always a restless but consistent cohort of
43 draftees
in my lipstadt persona
(one among so many)
inescapably
demanding,
like a dentist happiest
when commencing to
drill you in to submission
but smiling since
the novocaine
hasn’t fully…
that when
a poem,
even a new tooth
is c r e a t ed
in the gum of you,
seed~ed but not fully form~ed,
somehow
a new title is
auto~entitled,
whisked into
a never cold cup of
“what’s next.”
a laundry line
of the great
washed
but needy
for drying out,
not yet ready
for prime time
thus this
never endingness
is one more
perpetual eternal,
a cousin to
gravity
a direct order to be
born/resolved/loved/
only to be sent away
with a firm loving
push
with
no word of
farewell
(and not forgetting
to mention the thousand
of half breeds,
started, left
writ incomplete,
in my official
cemetery
a/ka
my actual draft file)
Sep 18, 2024
Sep 18, 2024 at 1:11 PM UTC
My
Feelings
Are stacked
Up like a huge
Piramid of emotions
Apr 27, 2019
Apr 27, 2019 at 1:55 PM UTC
A barrel of 42 gun is
Almost on the edges
Of shooting the last bullet.
The life I have lived so far is unknown
With some twists, dead ends
And some blossomed flowers
Before falling down from the edges.
I am looking forward to the next ticking
Clock to move and
Add the next seconds.
Maybe tomorrow brings something new.
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 5:34 PM UTC