"frogpond" poems
In seductions of ******
wisps of alarm, tongues fly
catching fire, their croaks
are red-headed matchsticks.
Intrepid hourly, the
blanketed white harassed
the appointed locum, the
cashmere buds of tobacco.
The open mouths adhere to
the King of Limbs, the
experimental corsages that
— bloom —
into existence.
There is a space between
all the noise where
my fetal poise can reside,
*forever holding,
holding on,*
forever holding,
holding on.
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
You and me
love like a
memory
moving
forwards backwards
up down side
no need to count
the ticks of the
clock
of life
better to feel them
listen
tickle
like every beat
of the short
life
we call love
one quasar to the next
frogpond
thoughts lost and found
more quickly
than a political
flip flop
chasing the dream
of living life
decently
without much mean
drama
you and me
one kiss
at a time
and us
one shake one tear one
laughter
at a time fighter
combatting the evils
of the humans
splurging out
of the news
like no tomorrow
but you and me
and
us
we cant afford
to dwell on every moment of that
vector
or the quasar might combust
from their rancid hearts
You and me
love like a
memory
moving
towards the better
times for you and me now
and them maybe
some day
so you and me
kid
kissing our way out of their
problems
with this love
and us
yall and them
taking the trickle
that we took from
them
the good ones
Stephen Jules Rubin
Santa Fe NM
late feb 2018
Feb 28, 2018
Feb 28, 2018 at 12:09 PM UTC