"claying" poems
undo the rusty bolts
underlining
my frizzy hairline
the crummy ones that hold
volatile turmoil
within my scalp
the erratic lunacy
playing
with my aging brain
using the untangled strings
to jump rope
and play
sorrowful tunes
for the weeping
to harmonize
i want you
to stick your hands
in my heavy head
as you would
in a flower ***
freshly filled with soil
dig into the moist compound
with your pliable fingers
amend
the corruptive leakage
that toils
within my own deceit
i want you
to avidly turn
the soft claying matter
how ever you please
as you would
turn into roads
that lead you
running
straight to me
i want you
to breathe
igniting hope
born from the fumes
of cigarettes
you smoked insensibly
into the seeds
you wish to discard
in this potted cavity
i want you
to pour oceans
of poetic sentiments
tainted with gentle kindness
from those isolated tears
held back in the sockets
of your eyes
to water
my wilting corpse
so it may flourish
from your light reflecting gift
of life (you resurrect me)
i want you
to trust
in your
captivating presence
to make me
unintentionally smile
from your caress
will selflessly sprout
inflorescent buds
of rich purplish-blue flowers
with conspicuous green calyxes
and even though their coloring
is rather insignificant
and they can be easily overlooked
i want you
to know
that only you
hold the key
to this secret pasture
that
without you
there would not be
such garden
for us to hide
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 7:40 AM UTC
Claying in through desert fads
Like some of those old Utah lads
The perrenial sun is the scorching one
Like dumped up logic in deafed up pun
Passing through the graveyard cross
Halcyon of the deep loss
Now way ahead of time strands
The fanthom mark reminds me errands
Of every dawn that strikes me whole
Reminds me- for time, there's no dole
I can stop at mark and sob indeed
But a purpose lives, over I feed.
Jun 17, 2018
Jun 17, 2018 at 11:22 PM UTC