"decoy" poems
From the ripple in a glass of water
to the sonic boom of this internal
Pompeii, the erosion
of her etymology is the only
sense of movement in her
dilated, cave-pupil eyes, those
two ghost towns spanning
and encircling all the way back,
stretched like an elastic blindfold
past the moment the first brick was laid,
perhaps her first vivid memory,
or anecdote, or first word uttered
in a Cuban slum.
There are mountains of tumbleweed
over the once thriving metropolis
that expanded towards America;
who threw herself into
the architecture of seven pillars,
borne from her land and
minerals. Gone are the
huts that housed her
knowledge of basic motor skills.
The women who once imagined
Mami and Mima as her birth
name now scrub off
the graffiti of her excrement;
they saw a swarm of pink moons
the day she told the same story
to every visitor that came
their way, each day then becoming
a missing surveillance tape, a sinkhole
dismantling the awareness
in her bones and stubborn will,
until she became
these dust-engulfed plains with
a daughter and granddaughter
archeological in their efforts
to chase down the remains
of a girl still breathing in
those eyes from time to time.
Every other ten-millionth blink of
the eye rides the silhouette of a post-infant girl
on the high tides of her quick visit,
looking in horror
as the nation of her life's nightmares,
heartaches, broken promises, romances,
spiritual breakthroughs, life-changing seconds
drowns with morbid unity en cien fuegos,
desperately attempting to assemble
the remnants of her psyche
past her cognitive bloodclots
with the awareness of one
who speaks no languages.
Gone is the moment
she first learned
to feed her several children
before the slip of sunset.
One of seven pillars remain intact,
the others long dismantled of their
stick and straw infrastructures.
One pillar remained,
housed her own colony
for nine months,
and now both descendants
travel the mind of their
greatest influence
with perplexed dedication,
caustic humor the decoy
for swarms of exhaustion
and asphyxiation
from the truthful atmosphere,
reveling in the seconds
of humanity lurking
in an abandoned etymology.
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 11:19 AM UTC
On rising heat, killdeer flush
to decoy enemy--
threat to its young that roams too close
They rush to skim on hayish blur
wailing over wildflowers drying
Fretful twitter in perpetual flight
swifts-- twirl and hurl their bits of bodies--
debris
from a cumulonimbus of a late-day sky
toward a ridge of stag horn sumac
presuming horizon primordial
behind which time and city-- drift and wobble
on rising heat-- after rush hour
Rising Heat
Rising--
to meet my mind
on its way down
from my post behind
the laundromat
where I view it all--
rising--
where I usually go in search of quiet
to almost hear the ocean
two hundred miles away
to strain words from wind
in careless conversation
to wonder over
missed whispers....
But not today
In rising heat, I went down
in search of something better--
your eyes again
solvent for my presence of mind
dissolvers of hours and the order of things
But I need an excuse!
To turn, to trespass, to disturb the peace!
For your eyes again!
And still I need more-- being feverish, weak
Or?
Or... should I take the cure?
To deny ...To deny
To deny what?
Overtones from a sea of years?
I don't know! Whatever it was!
Nothing explain it...
I melt... I'm gone....
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
People smile when they are happy.
That much is true, and to see
Yours, brings me such joy.
Then why is my smile a decoy?
I swear my happiness is genuine
But all I feel is a spleen
As deep and passionate
As the love I hold, love that I hate.
Pink, white, beige, red
Those lips of yours make me drop dead
Black, brown, blue, green
But those thoughts are, when they should have been.
Today I learned that love is a rose
Beautiful, but still harmful
And now I know that I should close
My heart, before my wounds become lethal.
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 11:23 AM UTC
we were the bomb squad
a tribe of children in
plastic crash helmets
pillows tied on
to protect our insides
holding hands to keep
from feeling lost and alone
we were the bomb squad
living like thieves in cardboard caves
beside the mine fields
hidden beneath beds of poppies
decoy explosions
in cadmium red *****
tender tongues
like kittens licking
the insides
of trembling thighs
we were the bomb squad
mucous membranes and bones
tick tock throats and veins
popped in the pyre
stomach bile and marrow
all up in the same smoke
as something that was
once smooth and sentient
we were the bomb squad
we found no time for any flag
nothing to do with kings
or foreign countries
just the knowledge
of not having known anything before
Jul 26, 2010
Jul 26, 2010 at 10:59 AM UTC
Any ****** word
don't deserve
cannot release,
the angst I feel,
I've warned you
but you swayed,
felt ********
and betrayed
Seemed like
I am the one sorry,
and I am the one
harshly blamed
For your
Ill-Advised acts,
your unworthy
decision pays
****
this scenario
Your mind games
come into play
Decoy your ego
hear my
********
on the way
********
Jul 29, 2012
Jul 29, 2012 at 12:34 PM UTC
Pinocchio
I want to be a real boy
not a lying decoy
wooden girl doll
a little too tall
lack of hips
couple snips
to get the hair
that I can bear
as mason jay
things’d be okay
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 3:35 PM UTC
When I sleep dreams please take head
I’m not accustomed to this speed
spliced with music art and ****
this rhyme a warning and a plead:
Many men look back at me
their eyes memorize silently
I trade in who I used to be
degenerating empathy.
Friends no more are there as well
waving constantly farewell
who they are now I can’t tell
heavy water stains still dwell.
Though no longer what you were
your name a prayer spoken unsure
Instills the fact there is no cure
clear direction- violent blur;
I am a man and I’m a boy
both utensil and a toy
immoral morals, high decoy
let flirt with death, young cold and coy..
So please I beg you, dreams of pain
let sleep consume me, peace sustain
let night air fill my broken brain
through the wind myself retrain
Let me wade in water deep,
let my faith forwardly leap
worry sow and disdaine reap
Troubled Poppies for Endless Sleep.
Apr 21, 2017
Apr 21, 2017 at 4:32 PM UTC
The boy with curly hair
a temporary decoy
guitar gone ecstasy, chords ring out
broke and hollow fears, gone before they could destroy
Let off at the brook
catching feelings off the hook
**** my freezing heartless feet
they’ll drown in the dream of maybe
‘Cause either i’m deadly
or i wanted to die
either i’m deadly
or i wanted to die
Love me as your’s and i’ll meet you at mine
Show up on stage
and i’ll be sure to fantasize
one look in the crowd and one in the eye
play for them and pretend for me
I’ll become the fantasy
you’ll want the flowers i bring for the end
a temporary decoy all too easily
either i’m deadly
or i wanted to die
either i’m deadly
or i wanted to die
Apr 4, 2021
Apr 4, 2021 at 8:35 PM UTC
It ain’t too bad to be from there
Just ask my family and friends
But it’s too flat, ain’t no way out
The roads are all dead ends.
Sometime soon I’ll find a place
Where the music I’ll enjoy
But for now I keep on tryin’
To escape from Illinois!
There’s a river on the border west
That moves a lot of dirt
Mighty Muddy Mississipp
Drowns the pain and covers hurt
Yeah, I’m movin’ south to New Orleans
Maybe I can find employ
In a blues bar down on Bourbon Street
Escape from Illinois!
Well I stopped a week along the way
When I saw the Gateway Arch.
But the folks out by the airport
Were stagin’ up a march.
Seems a white cop fired a shot that killed
An unarmed teenage boy
Oh yeah, the teenage boy was black,
Escape from Illinois.
Kept walkin’ to the Landing
(Named for Pierre Laclede)
It has most every thing you want
But nothing that you need
Some travelin’ folk told me some news
That made me jump for joy
Memphis maybe had some work
Escape from Illinois!
Found the haunted house called Graceland
And the grave where Elvis lay
Where half a million go each year
(Fifteen thousand every day)
They all want to pay respects
To the rockin’ – rollin’ boy
Put their finger in the bullet holes
Escape from Illinois.
Went downtown, knocked on some doors
Once or twice I went inside
But Beale Street was broken
The travelin’ folks had lied.
‘Cuz there ain’t no jobs in Memphis,
Or maybe I’m too coy
So I hitched a ride to Nashville
Escape from Illinois.
Nashville’s a big old meltin’ ***
Lots of great ones started here
But most end up as tourists
Getting’ ****** and drinkin’ beer
So money’s at a premium
And fame’s a fake decoy
End up workin’ in a record store
Escape from Illinois?
From Asheville to Atlanta
From Austin to LA
From Biloxi back to Baton Rouge
Need a place where I can play
I’ll follow all the buskers,
Form a musical convoy
Livin’ day by day and town by town
Escape from Illinois!
I’m a minstrel, like a rubber band
I keep on snappin’ back
I’m gonna make it somewhere
Singing somewhere, that’s a fact
Got my guitar and my music
Gotta do what I enjoy
Find a place to sing my songs for you,
Hell, it may be Illinois!
Phil Lindsey 6/4/15
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 1:46 PM UTC
Distant clouds lining the endless horizon hurtling back in waves,
rugged trees on the blue-barren shore, courtyard of this palace-
prison: the world shrinks, receding softly like
the last light of the evening sun:
Neither Odysseus King of Ithaca, nor a captive prisoner of
my own deeds, now, the world drops from me, in this
deep night I really am no-man, now, I am merely
the awareness of nothingness.
New worlds emerge: where I ride flying elephants, a hero I am
who won without recourse to a decoy horse, where Achilles
lives and Laodamia grieves not, where I rejoice
at my home the year after we won:
Fair Queen, worlds as real as my prism-world at dawn, where
the sea-nymph reigns; Many pasts converge and onward
to many futures from this present-point, I am really
ever just the silent witness.
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 9:53 PM UTC
It can’t be TOO hard- being a duck that is.
My stomach growled watching a tot feeding a duck in the castle garden,
then my famished gears started turning.
Right. That’d be nice- I could go for some bread and a swim.
Ducks don’t even have to work for food- not these ducks
-they get fed.
I have to shop for bread,
and that’s not the half of it.
First I have to get to the bread,
which means risking it in my tired van
or sitting on a bus with a perfect smelly stranger
or pushing my luck crossing a bustling street.
And then, if I’m not way-laid…BREAD!
But I can’t just stuff it down my gullet,
and sure as day nobody’s gonna feed it to me.
The worst that can happen to a duck
eating bread
is getting its head wet…or choking on fruitcake.
Just when I was feeling particularly underprivileged
on the food chain,
I thought of my great grandfather
and his wooden decoy duck bobs
still sitting on my hearth back in Indiana,
and I thought of the dogs he used to chase the felled birds
and I thought of the bullets and the sharp October air, and the teeth,
and I felt silly.
Aug 24, 2011
Aug 24, 2011 at 2:15 PM UTC
You see, I know this guy,
with bright and gentle eyes—
sunflowers against blue skies . . .
A true angel in disguise.
He’s known since before he could fly
that he wasn’t like the other guys,
or the him in their minds, that decoy,
that never dreams of kissing a boy
for the purest joy. . .
No, he’d have to strengthen those wings
not to tangle in the strings
that sting, and cling, and sling,
to save his prince—
his king.
A feathered, armored knight,
he soars with grace and might.
In a weary world of fright,
he’d invite any height –
loyal beyond first light.
And you see, there I was, drowned in muddy water,
with gills choked on death’s slobber,
****** by the wave’s merciless slaughter
of hope, that bled and foamed atop the marauder,
and lost like the sea king’s youngest daughter,
I, a merman bobbed below the knight’s shadow.
He saw the faintest blush
of my lost soul and rushed
to grace me from my grave, flushed
and bathed me amid the rainbows in the waterfall, hushed
my toxic tears, that cursed and gushed,
and pecked my lips, as sweetly as a thrush.
His feathers fluffed, my scales standing on edge.
I nested in the angel’s white down hedge
till my heart and soul was nursed to fledge.
Our skin taught with tingly warm bumps, an intimate pledge.
I a he fell in love with he a him, and love became our kedge.
So you see, while my worries ebb and flow like the moon’s tide,
bringing questions of where a bird and fish can reside,
I trust in him I can confide, never to hide, but cast my fears aside.
We’ve already broken the surface where the air and water collide,
we need not the world far and wide,
we need only to carry each other inside
our arms, and together glide,
feathers and scales side by side.
Aug 10, 2014
Aug 10, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
Thanks thespis for another muse anew,
Filliping my soul with the spirit of a song,
To chant for the young world in these pepperish letters,
before my callous eyes on the skull of historical future
on my pykitonic torso of I another African pykin,
as I finish my coffin for the cadaver of poetry
that the law of poetry is a distorting neurosis,
neurotic abnormality its baseboard of time
giving classical balance for wondrous poetry.
Compensatory motivation a charm of its seed,
Taking dear eyes from the skull of Demodocos
Leaving songfull mouth his legacy for humanity,
Warped physique not short of history,
Teaching the world to drink in full pyrene spring
As hunchbacked dwarfism of Alexander Pope
was not in any sense dwarfism of his poetry,
nor club foot of Byron in ******* to Maugham
Byronic heroism to Europe of yester times,
That sired Proust, the Jewish neurotic
And Keats the most dwarfish and Wolfe the tallest
Of man and woman to the cultural matrix
Of Europe, the mother of art, poetry and synaethesia,
From which was born Pushkin that took poetry
Out of his nymphomaniac heart, to the solace of czars,
And Shakespeare the dear thief, luckily converted
Childhood kleptomania into royal theatre of King Lear,
The parallel of four brothers from the house of Karamazov,
Their father; impecunious penny penchant muzhik
In the name of Fydor epileptic Dostoyevsky.
A lull of the time to escape from world of rent and tax,
Gripped nerves of the duo to a new realm of art
wherein sensuous glory from ***** and Indian hemp
propelled the souls of Coleridge and De Quincey
to grandiose highness of poetry in the dreams of *****
bordering on the teutonic greatness of ritualistic breed,
poetry that transcended from rotten apples in the writing desk
of Fredriech von schiller the begotten son of Germany,
writing under the arms of Balzac dressed in monkey clobus,
that along with Milton in the lost paradise, gave him swaddles
only when the poetic vein of Milton flowed happily from nothing,
but from the ritualized autumnal equinox to the spiritual vernal,
as Coleridge was in full recondite of marquetry,mosaic and miracles,
the miraculous white male sheep, the white ram of Wole Soyinka,
that he gave as a gift to Achebe at the last anniversary, evil decoy
that become a car which deathly crushed Chinua Achebe
down to demise in the catacombs for the law of poetry
as abnormal human neurosis an equation of perfect art.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 8:26 AM UTC
On rising heat, killdeer flush
to decoy the enemy--
threat to its young that roams too close
They rush to skim on hayish blur
wailing over wildflowers drying
Fretful twitter in perpetual flight
swifts-- twirl and hurl their bits of bodies--
debris
from a cumulonimbus of a late-day sky
toward a ridge of stag horn sumac
presuming horizon primordial
behind which time and city-- drift and wobble
on rising heat-- after rush hour
*Rising Heat
Rising--
to meet my mind
on its way down
from my post behind
the laundromat
where I view it all--
rising--
where I usually go in search of quiet
to almost hear the ocean
two hundred miles away
to strain words from wind
in careless conversation
to wonder over
missed whispers....
But not today
In rising heat, I went down
in search of something better--
your eyes again
solvent for my presence of mind
dissolvers of hours and the order of things
But I need an excuse!
To turn, to trespass, to disturb the peace!
For your eyes again!
And still I need more-- being feverish, weak
Or?
Or... should I take the cure?
To deny ...To deny
To deny what?
Overtones from a sea of years?
I don't know! Whatever it was!
Nothing explain it...
I melt... I'm gone....*
Sep 8, 2017
Sep 8, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
This life is just lost memories, regrets and false hope
Like whatever created us has crafted a sick joke
We're so insecure about our pre-destined flaws that
We either start big arguments that escalate into wars or
Make ourselves feel better by submitting to torture
Like I did, knowing that the pain will always reward ya
Because pain is a gateway to relieving problems when
You got too much and you know it's ****** but you can't solve 'em
And you grow up told not to sin, we do it anyways all night and day now where do I begin, how to stand against the shame?
Hunting animals down for coats or food to extinction
And destroying their environment, fancy word called deforestation
In relentless pursuit of luxury and creating a name
And you wonder why certain beasts will never be tame, it's insane!
Just because we think bigger, grow quicker and have cold hearts
Doesn't give you the right to tear this fucken beautiful world apart
We only had one hope, that's why life's a joke
We progress to be the best but all for no show
The only certainty I know is we evolve to destroy
I mean that's where we're going, that's right, it's no decoy
Ever since we began we transformed to form our end
There's no point to this **** game over man!
The only reason I'm alive today is because I have this information
As I pace back and forth, typing at the bus station
I know it's all a joke, so I live to laugh at it
I don't take much that seriously, because honestly I've had it
I'm done
Dec 1, 2016
Dec 1, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
I don't usually do this (status updates instead of poetry) but I'm really in the mood to flex my creative muscles and share ideas and concepts with my fellow poets here on HP. I love collaborating. I would like to use kik or fb messenger since it an easier means of communication for me. My kik is hottymelly25 and my facebook is Melanie Wilson (TGWLY).
Also, we have a thriving group of poets chatting together on kik. We're just a small group of poets who have met on here or on Poets Corner (another poetry app we like to use a lot) and we talk about life, poetry, what we made for breakfast, the importance of the decoy vaginas that ducks have to prevent **** and everything in between. It's quite entertaining and we're kinda like a family. If you're interested in joining us, just message me. :) 16+ only please.
Thank you for reading. ❤
Aug 14, 2016
Aug 14, 2016 at 4:33 PM UTC
239
“Heaven”—is what I cannot reach!
The Apple on the Tree—
Provided it do hopeless—hang—
That—”Heaven” is—to Me!
The Color, on the Cruising Cloud—
The interdicted Land—
Behind the Hill—the House behind—
There—Paradise—is found!
Her teasing Purples—Afternoons—
The credulous—decoy—
Enamored—of the Conjuror—
That spurned us—Yesterday!
1.6k
Do I write because I've things to say,
or things I don't want to do?
Is sitting here typing away,
a decoy for the blues?
I know there's things long overdue,
but there's nothing that cannot wait.
Could it be though that my poetry,
is just a way to procrastinate?
I have stuff to put away and sort,
and things to be thrown out.
But I'd really rather sit and write,
of that there is no doubt.
Perhaps I should accept the fact,
and get somebody in,
who's not attached to all my crap,
who can throw it in the bin.
And then I will be free to write,
my conscience will be clear.
If only I could find my pad,
I'm sure I left it here...
somewhere...
Apr 25, 2010
Apr 25, 2010 at 9:12 AM UTC
That night she wanted to prove her beauty.
So she killed all light.
Letting only a dim-dip from the moon to reflect how she danced seductively in calm, bold waves, wearing her night black gown now
heading my way .
That night I felt her beauty with all names men had for senses and some god only knew existed.
The sea was always a possesive lover who's satisfied only when humidity consumed every inch of me,
Leaving my breath heavy, skin sticky with her water.
But that night, as if assured I'll be hers forever she pulled back
sending unapologetic rough wind that matched the loud waves still dancing beneath me.
I closed my eyes and layed down on her shore in complete surrender;
letting her wipe every memory of love before her.
"Wash me"I mouth loud enough only for her to hear.
Why was I touched before.
My brain became heavy with her smell that I kept ******* gulps of, and felt tears collect themselves in my eyes.
I discovered the happiness they kept bragging about in complete decoy.
If only they know what happiness felt like.
Ocasionally I'd peak at her to see endless folds of black and my heart runs fast with fear of its majesty.
She accepted what I am, enjoyed swallowing my dark thoughts into her even darker descending bottoms.
Her distance made it clear I was not to touch, only taste her.
For once I couldn't mind,
I threw the weight of my sorrow and passed into a state I still don't have synonyms for.
Her love made me complete,
I was ready to leave this life then and there with no regrets or a second look.
For everything would be tasteless after her
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 11:37 AM UTC
I see that girls love Beyoncé
Girls love to pick at your conscience
They hate when guys go dark
It's funny, she was no different
Nowadays, it's hard to meet women
Almost like my love life was finished
I've always adored commitment
That's why I was in this position
Who's ever scared to let girls in
You've got admirers, yet so do I
It's not just me, we both have to comply
{Set II: Brandon}
I know I deliver these smiles
But I change once I review her files
"She cheated with this and him"
The heart bled after seeing her 1930's film
I have accepted that I could be alone
But I know nothing has been set in stone
If you have such butterflies for the boy
Say my name like I'm not a decoy
Girls make it harder to trust your heart
I fool myself entirely from the start
If you're not running games,
Realize I can never be so tame
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 9:31 PM UTC
Feeling so hollow
Hoping never to see the day
Never to see tomorrow
Feeling as if I have nothing to say
Maybe I should stick my mouth shut
Sew my eyes closed
Drown in the suffocating ****
Cancel the sights that I took in and overdosed
I try to feel joy
I try to feel this
But, still I'm just a decoy
All in all this is it I'm just stuck in my hollowness
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
Take it from me youngster, figuratively
I literally have no possessions
But surely learn from your mistakes
More of less of those encounters
More experiences without the hate
Alive and happy thankful just to be
So youngster now take it from me,
My experiences stand ahead you...
Live life for the truth of you,
There is serenity in being happy
Real joy is honest a being
Who exudes the love of Life, a light
That is the truth of You know Who
Soul that is a River
Doubtless we began, now to see
The construct of brotherly peace,
A lovely existence without this drowning pearl
The suffocation of our miracle world
Take it from me, youngster
You only rob yourself of illumination
I've been stealing from my own me?
If nothing else no one will dispair
When no one cares to wake
Time will cease, when no one watches
Pay close attention to the joy,
The life you have pretended decoy
Live like you love to live your life,
Truly utterly free
Breathe each minute passing
With thankful joyful and sincerely
Returning the gift of chi
Most positively the peace we send out
Just be mindful youngsters,
We make our own hells mouth
Chose to be enlightened
Be youthful and truly speak freely
Alright youngster ? take it from me
I wish you everlasting
Peace.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 12:10 AM UTC
She has the face as innocent as a dog begging for food
Her eyes beam rays that gleam like high beams from a spotlight
Look at her smile and its like gazing into a cave of sunrays
But don’t be fooled, for if you look deep inside
Her happiness is absent with a lack of passion to find it.
Its easy to hide in a game of hide and seek
No effort is involved like it’s the end of the week.
Broken and shattered, her happiness has been tattered
Thrown out the window… like it never even mattered
Fear is seeking her relentlessly to invade her mind
She knows it so she keeps evading, to avoid its infestation
Each new place she decides to hide
Leads to a closer encounter of what she’s avoiding
Like a dead plant, she is becoming watered down
Fear is now a sponge that wants to soak her up
It is feigning for fresh food from some fresh blood.
Little does she know, fear is like a ghost;
It’s only real if you choose to believe it.
Finally, after a good game of hide and seek, fear found her
Curled and crouched, clenching her fists in a dark corner…
But clenched fists are useless in a fight against something that only exists in your mind
Without hesitance, fear went through with his crime--scared her to death without wasting time… literally.
She spent so much time living in fear that fear would catch her, and it did. Ironic?
She lived a life based on something her mind created
Something that exists only if you let it
Something that makes you look back on life and regret it
And I guarantee if fear let her live she would reminisce on everything she missed and think, “everything I missed has brought me to this.”
She avoided anything and everything outside her comfort zone
Instead of facing her fears, she ran from them
Rather than choosing the road that is less traveled
The road with twists and turns, leaps and bounds, change and adventure
She chose a road with a pre-determined destination
The road that is bland and boring, straight forward and sturdy, mundane and motionless
Instead of living a life full of excitement and joy
She lived a life with no life, frightened of a decoy
Instead of facing fear face to face, she lived with a face full of fear
Disguised by a smile, so happy is the way she would appear.
I guess you could say the point I’m trying to make is….
Fear is a creation of the mind,
Fear only exists if you let it
So why live life scared of something that doesn’t exist?
And if you have a fear, face it, don’t run away from it.
Because there’s nothing to run from, especially if there’s nothing really there.
Fear is the façade to a life full of fantastic surprises
Letting that façade stand in your way would be quite unwise
Take a leap of faith, step past your fears, and see what your life is really comprised of.
Dec 4, 2012
Dec 4, 2012 at 2:01 PM UTC
Like a clown, walking down past the hotel room
his red-nosed cigarette alight.
The lobbyist winks, he recognises me.
Tap tap I'm leaving. Tap tap.
The train with swollen hearts departs this thawing furnace.
In the corner is the clown;
Comfied round his wearied eyes and weary pride.
Playing with her number like a child with a toy, wondering,
will the embers suffice?
To decoy and employ our tangled kisses and nibbles and bites through the nights.
Or get soaked up in depravity and a bottle of gin?
Excluded in the watered down reality of the phone.
The clown remains without a clue,
Are you thinking about me? I'm thinking about you
Jul 1, 2012
Jul 1, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC