"fondues" poems
their curriculum of beauty is suspense
it confuses the pure essence of sense
stuns and thrills man to indulge and languish
it is a catapult that revokes twitches to distinguish
women flowery toss aloft our deed breadth
our desire and lament proselylate length
we suffer the blight and plaguee of fantasy
we are frail monsters late but in ecstasy
but in them dwell the occult trouble of peace
chide,scold,rebuke and admonish us like louse
rein us by fondues and affectionate devotion
circuitously tenet and statue men in version
eternal motion we dance to the music
their incredulity binds us to mimic
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
I'm not the kind of fool
Who goes first on fondues
Wreak havoc on travels
And get lost and bruised
And fight for anything
And anyone of feelings
I am the son of cold
And the grand child of vulgarity
Never the strong man
Nor the spiritual insane
Running my highway
In my own truck lane
Never ink blotted
By the time I felt I'd like to
Overdoing scatterings
Forcing pusses to pop lingerings
Cropped out from photographs
I am the eagle from the south
A day older from my mere shadow
Of dandies and slouch
I am the charmer of ghosts
In this fatigued jacket
Taking charge of bullets
Triggered from your guts
From your sub standards
Pulled from the gauntlet
Off your misfiring ammo
Crash dummied rocket
Murmurs and prophets
Fake gay dimples
Soft brushes
First class test crashes
In the middle of the zone
Blows my head
Leaves my lights on
Off to bed.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 11:01 AM UTC