#ceaseless
good poetry, good poets:
you are all so o v e r confident
“ceaseless, your poetry will never cease”
<>
*but the heart, the engine, the brain,
even the decrepitating body,
gives many visible warnings,
we can be done in so easily,
we can be seized.
by a tick bite, the sugar’s refusal to convert,
the minor cuts, that take months to heal,
everything small as dangerous as an artery blockage,
a single cell of an illegitimate growth,
the small easy, too purposefully ignore,
but that does not mean no registration*
this, then, about me and a bud of a free-thee-well
<>
Oct 23, 2019
Oct 23, 2019 at 11:47 AM UTC
He doesn't know what his purpose is.
Does he even have one?
Is he a giver?
A taker?
What is it?
All he does now is wash dashes in a nasty restaurant with cheap, foamy soap that barely cleans the dishes.
Not that anyone would notice that.
He doesn't want to live this way forever,
But his bad luck is ceaseless.
There's no way that something good would happen to him.
At least not in this life.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
Ceaseless small talk
No one cares
They watched in shock
As he split the layers
He made his way
Towards her wary form
Brown locks astray
But her eyes were warm
His hand extended
He bowed to her
As she pretended
Nobody heard
When he whispered
We meet again
She raised her hand
And counted ten
Seconds before
he kissed it
And
They
Were
Never
Seen
Again
May 11, 2014
May 11, 2014 at 1:34 PM UTC