"accusingly" poems
Some days I think I need nothing
more in life than a spoon.
With a spoon I can eat oatmeal,
or take the medicine doctors prescribe.
I can swat a fly sleeping on the sill
or pound the table to get attention.
I can point accusingly at God
or stab the empty air repeatedly.
Looking into the spoon's mirror,
I can study my small face in its shiny bowl,
or cover one eye to make half the world
disappear. With a spoon
I can dig a tunnel to freedom,
spoonful by spoonful of dirt,
or waste life catching moonlight
and flinging it into the blackest night.
6.4k
it was my
fault
i moved the
table
because of me, the vase is now on the
ground
broken
shattered
oh, what have I
done?
i've made a
mess
i need to get it back to what it
was
it's not just a vase to
me
oh my god, i can't do
this
it's not getting *******
fixed
the shards stab my
hands
funny, the thing i love most
hates me now
my fingers
bleed
my heart's beating
fast
i can't bear to part with this
vase
sitting in the corner crying, i'm
dying
i need that
vase
it's very dear to
me
you won't understand, you
see?
the water's spilled
everywhere
mixing with my
tears
the flowers look at me
accusingly
i can't do
this
the vase will never be the same
again
i cry and
cry
until i finally
decide
that it's time to throw the shards
away
it's time to
L
E
T
G
O
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 5:15 AM UTC
funny, isn't it? how facebook displays how long it's been since a person was last active. they remind me that i was a mere three hundred seconds from catching you online, but that's okay; no, really!, it is;
because my fingers are hovering over my keyboard and the blinker's just blinking in its white little space, this Type a message... glaring at me accusingly. wait, give me a second. what do i tell you? what should i say?
hi is safe. so is hello. hey seems a little too casual, doesn't it? should i put an emoji? a heart? no, no. a smiley face. but just the normal smiley face, not the one with closed eyes and everything. or maybe i should use that instead?
but /then what/?
i guess i could ask you how your day went. that sounds well enough. i can ask you about the weather. no, ****** it's always hot. nothing interesting there. i'll just branch out after you tell me what you've done today, where you've gone. oh, you went to the movies? that's great. last movie i watched was Captain America: Civil War. are you team cap or team iron man? peachy. just peachy. perfect. i've got this. i am s--
holy **** you're online. why are you online? the green circle is just staring at me and oh my god, you're typing, you're typing in to our chat box. oh my god. i liked it better when you were inactive. when you were offline. now i just wait, maybe pretend i wasn't this loser waiting for you to talk to me, this loser who had you on my mind, this loser overthinking what i should say to y--
You (12:39 PM)
Hey. I was just thinking about you. :)
May 18, 2016
May 18, 2016 at 12:36 AM UTC
Courtney’s old subaru stuttered and stalled as she sat at the red light. The large blue duffle bag sat ominously on the leather seat beside her. She couldn’t look at it.
God, Luci. Why did you get yourself into trouble? Courtney’s mind was racing. Ridiculous. This is ridiculous. She ****** her head to look at the bag. It was bulging.
The bag was stained and dusty, ripped along the seams in some places. Courtney’s phone rang loudly. She jumped, and held onto the steering wheel with one hand and answered.
“Hello?”She was silent as the voice on the other end talked quickly. “No, I’m not there yet... yes, I’ve got it.. No, I haven’t touched it... Yes, sir. She’s very sorry... I know, sir. Yes I’’ll tell her.” She hung up. Her face was ghost white, her palms and forehead sweaty.
Many voices argued in her head. I shouldn’t be doing this for her. She broke the law. But Luci’s your sister! That doesn’t matter. She caused the whole family a lot of pain and money. And now I’M breaking the law. What the hell?!
She looked back over at the duffle bag. It sat staring at her accusingly. She turned away. Her car was getting awfully hot, so she rolled down the windows, letting air flow through. Checking her watch, she hiccuped with surprise. Her foot slammed down on the gas, her head pressed against her seat from the quick acceleration. Her car’s enging groaned with the speed, but she couldn’t slow down.
********* Luci. I really hate you right now.*
Suddenly, she saw flashing lights and heard a sharp wailing sound behind her. A police car pulled right up behind her, speeding along, signaling for her to pull over to the shoulder of the road. Courtney’s eyes were wide with fright, and her palms were sweating profusely, leaving stains on her steering wheel. Oh god oh god oh god oh god...Ohhhh my goddddd.
Courtney slammed on her breaks, pulling over. A man in uniform knocked on her window, and she rolled it down slowly. There was a loud noise from the passenger seat and Coutney’s world slowed as she saw the duffle bag fall to the floor of the car, the zipper breaking and the contents spilling onto the carpeted floor.
The policeman’s face was horrorstruck.
“Ma’am...” He stuttered. “I’m going to have to ask you to...step out of the car and put..put your hands on your head.”
Jun 25, 2012
Jun 25, 2012 at 12:49 AM UTC
Tonight,
the moon looks like the cheshire cat's grin
and we wonder what it is like
to be someone else.
Head full of fantasies
of places we'll never see
and dreams of universes
we don't belong to.
The moon grins down,
like it knows something I don't
and I gaze back accusingly.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 10:12 PM UTC
I’m tired of influencers faking nervousness.
my generation wants to care less
these days.
it’s a counter-current hack.
we want to be less defined.
we can search and reflect for ourselves.
we’re sick of the emotion
that’s all over everyone’s faces,
the unsightly splotches of opinion.
the entire election machine,
the process of getting there, is smudged.
It’s a curated mess, an advising spin,
an incomprehensible hex:
“Oh profit pondering,
contradictory means to an end
- bless weave, and conceal,
bloodless dollar debt options,
painful penny pincher paradoxes,
and deadly debt bliss dilemmas..”
“Is this a witch or an arbitrager?” Lisa asked, after rudely leaning over and reading up to this point.
“I was shooting for a numinous type of beat,” I revealed.
“We’re supposed to be working on our thesis definitions,” she said accusingly.
“Are you not challenged, here, hour by hour?” I asked sarcastically.
“I need ideas - well - I have too many ideas, I need some focus, I wanted to see what you had.”
I deadpan looked at her, “Well, you broke the spell - I lost my train.” I complained dryly.
“Don’t put me in a situation.” she said, waving my gripe off as insignificant.
.
.
Songs for this:
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
drive ME crazy! by Lil Yachty
Melt by Nilüfer Yany
Oct 14, 2024
Oct 14, 2024 at 3:06 PM UTC
someone yells 'dilettante' accusingly
i wake up in cold sweat
screaming 'now see here im no phony!'
to imaginary rat creeping
now through my door
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
Meze
*Meze or mezze /ˈmɛzeɪ/ is a selection of small dishes served in the Middle East and the Balkans as breakfast, lunch or even dinner.
-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's a meze day,
Many small poems arrayed,
A tasting menu,
Hummus and babaganoush,
Small observations,
Pita dipping,
Long writs tabled,
Unless dragged out from the wine cellar,
For another meal,
Another mood.
They'll keep,
or not.
The bay and beach have been traded in,
For Western Mass. mountains,
The highland region,
The Berkshires, the Green and the Taconic Mountains,
Formed over half a billion years ago
When Africa collided
with North America.
(Just for a weekend, a traitor, I'm not.)
*Different insects checking me out,
Crash landing in my chest hair jungle
To get a taste of a Long Island salt air,
Fresh blood and poetry from a foreign tongue.
Mount Greylock asks me what I got to say.
I said I got grey locks older than you, friend.
I am a billion years old, son of the copulation
Tween the Sun and and a passing comet,
The Atlantic,
My amniotic fluid birthstone unevaporated..
Greylock sniffs, mumbles,
just another New Yorker.
*The clouds different, thick slabs, bank-heads keeping
My sun-father from showing his true colors,
My skin seeks his restorative powers,
Burn the strain, the stress, the black circles from
Within and without, but this is a partly cloudy day.
Sooner than me, the leaves will be red and gold,
The season of long sunnier days forgotten,
The trees that
Fill the panorama,
Point their soon-to-be
Denuded branch fingers at me
Accusingly,
L'etranger,
You brought winter's chill,
A lie but perhaps not,
For they are sensing the
Inhabiting cold in me.
A strange day, every asking, passing thought
Thrown back in my face,
And stewed, stir fried up
All in vain attempts to keep warmer
Just a little bit
Longer.*
Aug 18, 2013
Aug 18, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
While sitting with the gleaming dim of sun and hoping the smell of death that has always lingered on each fingertip, I switch the page of the ****** substance, my mind is thinking where you have been, or where I am going and I think I've learned to hate this distance of home, on a train filled with the nonsense of people and filled with the tyrant desire to keep moving, we sway together like the emotionless tooth ache I've remembered I had now that I'm comfortably laying between the act of home and the act of drunk men waiting to scream, I hope as this seedling roots to the top I don't accusingly run into this smell again or the madness of mumbles, I hate being apart of this religion of laugher if it is not my own. I realized how selfish I sound, wanting to bask in my own silence, feeling the neglecting laugher this is exactly where I do not belong.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:03 PM UTC
Father, I have sinned.
Ive compelled myself a mate and painted my body gold, pure and metallic and let him hang me around his lacey neck like a chained noose.
Father, i have sinned.
Ive disappointed my appointments and made allies with my enemies. Ive lied to get to where i am and i stand legless because of it.
Father, i have sinned.
Ive cut open skin and got drunk from the blood, letting it trickle down my breast, wearing it like a jacket, using it tirelessly to keep me warm during my winter
Father, i have sinned.
I scripted cursively with my left hand and pointed accusingly with my right. Ive fought like a thinker and forfeit my heart.
Father i have sinned,
I loved without thought.
I have slept in my ***** sheets and bathed in my discretions, Father, this bed is not big enough for our overexhausted lessons.
Father, please forgive me
for i have sinned in spite of the sun. Ive predicted light for the losing side and because of that,
i've won a temporary victory.
Ending with, not surprisingly, my mother clawing me senseless,
her knuckles blistering my jabbing jaw.
She said, "I never thought id see a side to you much darker than i ever saw."
Now she looks to me much older, decrepit and disgusted, and i look to her a doppelganger of the man that left her faithless.
Father, i have sinned and unwittingly beg for your conviction. But your faith is what left my mother living breathlessly without a face. A face hauntingly well known. but if i keep on keeping on this sinning, a face just like yours ill own.
Nov 19, 2014
Nov 19, 2014 at 11:03 PM UTC
Hey, honey
who did you **** to get into this party?
The whole wide world
is watching the same skin flick,
******
tickled
and slick
with scummy scrangjjjjjj
scrangggjjjjjjjj
that's code for *****
in some ancient Indoasian
dialect
you only ever heard from Indiana Jones.
I slip and slide into
her *****
in my backyard
in the middle of my tenth birthday party
and it's warm,
it's warm and safe
and I like it here.
I like it everywhere.
Humidity is the closest thing
I have to a God
there's a forest of ***** hair
growing on the bathroom rug.
I'm sorry that you had to walk on it.
My little brother's
got eyes in the back of his head,
they blink and look around
and you have got to watch your back around him
because he's fast
as a ************
too.
Today I am concerned about
the price of oil
not because I drive
but because my fictional wife
stops putting out
the minute it hits four dollars.
You've got an awfully perdy mouth
for someone who just got hacked to pieces.
I'd like to frame your lips
if you'd let me,
that would be nice,
right above my fireplace,
on the mantle,
next to the ******* cutouts
I've been saving since I was seven.
Is it glue that's holding them together,
God I hope so
because everyone keeps touching it
whenever they come to visit.
Come.
To visit.
haha
I like to laugh,
laughter is medicine for the soul,
Chicken Soup
for the Pre-Teen's Soul
is really just full of
**** anecdotes
but the kids don't tell their parents that,
why do you think they sell so well?
I'm a *******
something
****
I've run out of ideas
at this point in time
it's getting awful hard
to continue my schoolwork
because
let's face it
one can only learn about
bonds
so many times
before the skin
from ones' face
starts to peel
off ones' skull
and slide into ones' hands
and fall onto ones'
***** carpet.
It stares up at you
accusingly,
no eyes,
and it speaks.
"What's the deal with airline food?"
you
me
we
say.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 2:05 PM UTC
Some days I think I need nothing
more in life than a spoon.
With a spoon I can eat oatmeal
Or take the medicine doctors prescribe
I can swat a fly sleeping on the sill
or pound the table to get attention.
I can point accusingly at God
or stab the empty air repeatedly.
Looking into the spoon’s mirror,
I can study my face in its shiny bowl,
or cover one eye to make half the world
disappear. With a spoon
I can dig a tunnel to freedom
spoonful by spoonful of dirt,
or waste life catching moonlight
and flinging it into the blackest night.
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 3:26 AM UTC
The cigarette burns aren't fading
only become less painful and more scabbed over.
When I first saw her, I was happy, please understand.
I saw her entering the cafe from my position opposite the door.
Brett Shady was playing the center of the room but my attention was not on him, not entirely.
She and her boyfriend took the only standing room still available in the far corner.
I'm not sure if she saw me but I think she did.
I think she kissed her boyfriend after she first saw me, which is fine.
I would have done the same, had our rolls been reversed.
After a few more songs I could no longer bear it. I stepped
outside.
I walked two blocks up the rode from the cafe to Bonanza Market.
I bought a pack of cigarettes and walked even further up the hill.
There, I found my favorite spot, one which I had found with a dear friend.
There is a swing hanging under a big tree, surrounded by flowers.
I must have went through half the pack before deciding to move on.
I figured I'd catch the rest of the show from the door.
Walking back however, something caught my eye.
A play was just beginning at the Nevada Theatre and I heard it was semi decent.
I snuck in through the side as I had done many times before and took my seat.
On stage, performing a small girl was another girl who I had kissed.
Who I loved.
When I first saw her I think she saw me too.
I looked down feeling a tear in my eye.
When I looked up I was sure.
She was looking at me with a sort of pleasant smile on my face.
As if she'd known what I was feeling.
The regret, the sadness, the longing.
All these things came rushing up inside me so quickly that I had to leave.
I again went to my favorite spot and finished the pack, saving a few cigarettes for that night.
Oh God, how I would need them.
I walked back to maybe see the end of Brett Shady's set. The show was over however.
Walking out was a friend of mine who I had not spoken to in a while. I waved her down and we began talking. About what I remember not. But it took my mind off things.
A while after a girl I had onced kissed and had once kissed me walked out of the cafe with her boyfriend.
She smiled at the friend I was with, not sparing me a glance.
My friend turned to me
"How could you let her go, Nolan? Why would you let her go?''
I turned my back to her and began walking.
Two or maybe three ours later I arrived home, all my tears shed.
I didn't sleep that night.
The face of the girl and her boyfriend came flooding into my dreams as the tears had off my face.
The face of the girl on stage came flooding into my mind as the nicotine had done my blood.
Regret was sharing my bed that night.
Whispering in my ear accusingly "How could you have let her go?"
Pain was in my room that night.
Roughly fondling my heart as if it were a stone.
Sadness was kissing my mouth that night.
Only allowing whimpers to come out.
Apr 15, 2013
Apr 15, 2013 at 11:10 PM UTC
She slowly marches up to the mirror lining up for battle, people may ask who she is fighting with, I'd say she's fighting with herself.
She's at war with herself.
She raises her hand pointing at the mirror accusingly.
Her hazel eyes stare.
Whispering her battle cry the mirror mimics her every move.
"Suicide they scream. Help me they beg."
They rob my of my answers and take off running. They grab onto me while I'm already drowning, then yell at me for struggling.
I act strong and brave.
People need a leader right? I can't remember the last time somebody asked me if I was alright.
Last time I checked I was a wreck.
They scream riddles for me to solve threatening that death is the answer.
They get furious when I chase it away from their weak necks. I act brave.
I act strong.
I act like I can help but in all things that are true I'm just a girl at battle with herself.
Scream me another riddle before I drown.
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 1:51 AM UTC
I finished moving into my residential college as a storm began
- fat raindrops, as big as coconuts, falling from a black and fouling sky.
These northerners were acting like a "tropical storm" (Henri) was a big deal.
“Surely New England gets storms?” I ask, from behind my mask.
“What about NOR_Easters?” I say, like a meteorologist.
“Those are different.” I’m told, with no other explanation.
“Did you bring this storm from the “SOUTH?” I’m asked, accusingly.
(This was after I told them about coming from one ”bulldog-college-town” to another.)
“Yes.” I reply, “It was in my luggage.”
A silly question but they have a point - the storm feels like it’s involved and fulfilling some obligation to dramatize my college move-in story.
“Time to quarantine!” I’m informed - “Yep, can’t WAIT!” I lie.
One disaster at a time.
Aug 22, 2021
Aug 22, 2021 at 2:41 PM UTC
inside weeks now, first frost warmed off, a *** watered
but still sere; her leafless twigs stand here ... pointing accusingly
(she'd promised us limes someday)
hope's a careless gardener with deep roots
resurrection imagined, coaxed to new shoots, green flecks ... some sign
(and lime fruits some day)
or any season grander than aged bourbon and ginger ... sipped
the crystal decanter bides quietly with gilt china
(for our harvest of limes)
a dusty cabinet counts reasons in neat rows
plant and man await parting, those pursed lips of time
(and dream, both, of limes)
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 12:28 AM UTC
As boys we dreamed and hoped to be
We watched the game and chose our team
Match day comes and passions rise
We gather in tribes & watch from sides
We’ve spent a week of misery
In life & work that has to be
Our only escape is on TV
And hope the wife stops nagging me!
-
Then match day comes & passions thrive
I stand and feel the bile’s rise
And those I cheer are part of me
The team I watch and want to be
He’s off his game it angers me
I shout I scream it should be me
Yet they all seem to disagree
But they don’t feel the pain in me
Coz he’s the best there’ll ever be
How dare he try to degrade me
He scores a goal no good for me
He should have scored already 3!
-
The whistle blows it comes to an end
I cross the pitch he sees a friend
But do I say “well done my son?”
I moan at him for missing one!
-
What right have I to tarnish thee
His garbled words his looks at me
An adults fears and misery
Are skills we teach too easily
We fail in life but hope they’ll be
The dreams we lost but yearn to see
He wants to be from watching me
I shout I swear accusingly
The love we shared can never be
We fight we scream so bitterly
He sits he stares he looks at me
Then turns his back forever on me!
Mar 22, 2010
Mar 22, 2010 at 9:15 AM UTC
You demand that we stop waving our arms about
While talking or whenever I do the 3-legged downward dog
That reminds you of being abused in another life
I know you recognize the delivery man as the abuser
Who you bark at fiercely, relentlessly
Just as you always growl jealously at Hazel, our neighbor's dog,
Despite her best efforts to be your friend
I see the wolf in your eyes when you're stalking lizards
Running, unleashed, leaping impressively from a standstill
Unsupervised in what substitutes poorly for wilder places
In our Florida backyard
You stare accusingly whenever I talk on the phone
Demanding to be heard, too
You hear and smell things I cannot imagine
Long before they reach my ordinary ears and nose
I see you cannot stop digging that hole
Next to the patio in my wild grasses garden
You eat the finest organic dog food
But prefer something dead on the path
During your afternoon jog to the beach
With Bill, so dismayed, that you enjoy smelly rolling
Though you endure your punishment, a scrubbing in the shower
Just to cuddle with Bill on the couch all clean and loved
I command you to COME HERE when doing yardwork
Ignoring me, you trot off towards Federal Highway
Or slip through the hedge when I’m weeding-you're a wily one
Hoping for wolf adventures like the ones in your dreams
Those that turn scary, maybe you get pounced on
When you're making terrifying yelping sounds
And trembling uncontrollably
Waking us all up, leaping up on the bed
Scooching to a safe haven between us
Beseeching, "Hold me, squeeze me, say it's OK for me to be here!"
Hugging you Bill says, "It's OK, there there, he's a good doggie."
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 10:29 PM UTC
As I wake
I find that he is the taste in my mouth
His smell lingers on my sheets
It hangs heavy in the air
He’s on my skin
And he’s in my hair
I touch myself
He’s there too
As I dress I push him
To the back of my mind
But he slowly slinks back
Into my thoughts
I am overwhelmed
Every part of my being
Is consumed by him
I am weak with out him
I am even weaker
In his cold embrace
Perhaps I was always this weak
And it has nothing to do with him
Maybe he is just a crutch
A ***** little place to point at
Accusingly
A scapegoat for my flaws
This thought calms my nerves
And puts my busy head at bay
I bathe and his smell slides
Off my skin
The essence he had left on me
Is now gone
And is spinning down the drain
He is gone now
And I have full control
Jan 3, 2012
Jan 3, 2012 at 8:48 PM UTC
“Ladies first”. He uses his theoretical masculinity
To duck his way out of everything. He crosses his legs and looks accusingly at her.
She stands and tells him that he reminded her wasted energy,
Of the tall glasses of apple juice,
Drunkenly tossed at the electrical outlet,
To get some type of “Zap”
Though she said it more like,
“Zzzaap” wiggling her fingers to try and show a current of energy.
She said it as if she didn’t really know,
What type of reaction she was looking for.
He is quiet until he isn’t.
She reminded him of a seconds old baby.
Blue because the reality of oxygen hadn’t touched her yet,
And he was still waiting for her to turn into a peachy color and embrace reality.
“Before we met, I hadn’t slept in my bed for weeks,
You couldn’t even get through a coffee date”.
Her eyes are fiery and she says something that a person with fiery eyes would say
“Before we met, I didn’t need to have *********** with people to feel intimacy”.
That is an explainable response.
Anyone would say that
So I guess that implies that everyone has fiery eyes.
He scoffs and begins to stand and she mimics him
“Don’t make me throw apple juice at you”
“I’m a broken outlet remember”
“I haven’t thrown apple juice at you yet, we don’t know that”
“It doesn’t matter. You can’t breathe with me around,
And I’m more of a margarita guy anyways”
He leaves
She cries
They both have fiery eyes.
Dec 4, 2014
Dec 4, 2014 at 4:51 PM UTC
I went home last night.
Bought some *****
and brought another man
I met in the pub.
He was so unlike you,
you who opened all doors.
He was scrubby
and rather rude.
We lit the cigar,
inhaled the smoke,
exchanged lies,
got high.
As expected,
we had ***
That kissing
and fondling
and all those things
I need not elaborate
for the exhausted bedsheet,
and propped pillows
And crippled blankets
all looked at me,
accusingly,
asking where you were.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 12:57 AM UTC
Dearest.
I had spilt my coffee
on your working table.
The manuscript that you were finishing
flinched, yelled, bled painfully
then stared at me accusingly
doubting your existence which is
gracefully drowning in the fatal glow
of left-overs and world dropping dead.
Perhaps, after a long time,
your heart will take its beat tonight.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
I glare at the clear and unbroken sky,
its blue a hue that made young girls weep
as they gazed into some unattainable stranger's eye;
I am grass greener than sin
chewed by cattle older than time
and as I sway to any trickling wind
I point accusingly at that clear and unbroken sky
because it shunned away the clouds
with their heavy weeping cargo of life
with their voluptuous bodies that would cushion the chariot
as it stops at ninety degrees from my weeping skin;
I am a bird lost on the canvas
as the backdrop is wiped clean when the chariot thunders past
and, blinking, I gaze helplessly -
for I am as young as this moment -
into the clear and unbroken sky.
Jul 25, 2013
Jul 25, 2013 at 7:41 AM UTC
Tea stains on the table and
a wafer on the floor,
the balcony door is open,
what do I live here for?
No one cleans except for me,
to put it succinctly,
and.
In the sink a lonely cup
looks up accusingly.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 3:39 AM UTC
You are gathered with your friends
to play a board game
called "What Next"
Four people total, Including you.
First, the person with brown hair
and blue eyes to your right,
filled with HATrEd,
withdraws a card and
deciphers its MYstery:
"You are lost
at sea on a wooden
catamaran. There are others
with you. The phone that shows
where to turn is broken.
How will you unMASK
the land?"
The pitiful one across
from you whispers
the answer: "Unlock
the old, rusted telescope."
It is the pitiful
one's turn, who reads
with self-reproof, "You are on
an island. The boy child
with a broken glass face,
exposing the fire
in HIS head, looks
at you accusingly.
How do you extinguish
the volcano?"
Raising a hand in ANGER
is the disdainful person
with brown hair, who yells,
"Punish the boy child!
His SCARS will never heal!"
The loving soul in red
smiles and says: "Wrong,
you silly creature.
You solve the MYthical puzzle
by joining the flesh
on the boy child's FACE."
It is now THE loving
one's turn to select
a card (the ticket?), done
with a GENTLE flick of the
delicate wrist. One singing
VOICE chimed, "Spoiled farmer
makes you confine the
bamboozled man that names
your strengths. He
SUGGESTS
THAT
the befuddled
has already been put away.
How can you possibly
solve the Conundrum?"
You must answer. Relax!
I order you! Find the solution!
The patriarch has ordered it!
Or else you MUST walk through
a curtain of falling bullets
showering down.
It is the only ESCAPE
back to the beginning.
Kerry Herrmann
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 11:50 PM UTC