"jell" poems
I never thought
the first time we met
would define the next four years
With Jell-o nights
no useless fights
and crying each other's tears
You were here for me
during love, lust, and loss
and when I felt down
you reminded me that I'm the boss
We shared countless stories
Many many bottles of wine
who could forget the pudding
oh! and our dance moves are FINE!
But now our time as roommies
has to come to an end
I'm so glad we met that very first weekend
I couldn't have asked for a better best friend.
We'll both be on our journeys
with plenty to do
but remember all the times we've had these past four years
Because my time here would be wasted if it weren't for you!
May 9, 2010
May 9, 2010 at 8:56 PM UTC
you used to come home loudly in the dark but
quietly in the day we’d be together
to compensate
we were only in love on Halloweens
you in those hundred dollar costumes worth two
in material and tiny fingers
**** rats and ER surgeons
to me with a pop-culturally relevant ******* mask
Frankenstein (to the dumb dudes that go to these things)
that chisels me like a jell-o mold
that blurs her infinitely beautiful walking-away
the blooming glances pairing parting lips to talk ********
caking the ***** reeling in our heads
winding round the spindle hooked tight
pulling my hard-hat plastic-green face
to the windmill
Apr 15, 2014
Apr 15, 2014 at 3:02 AM UTC
The teacher's eyes gathered colours about
The cultured garden scene she knew so well;
She likes the section flowers nicely sprout
Her hidden world where varying colours jell.
Achievers pride she takes with all her heart;
Like outstanding pupils she proudly groomed.
But scrappy lazy ones, never seems to start,
She wished them luck and left alone to bloom.
The sun regardless shines on all juniors.
The bright ones, the brats she pitied a lot.
Through years and wise by age she remembers,
Oft visiting her those she had forgot,
Those she loved and cared have whittled away.
But strugglers now trees they weathered to stay.
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 9:54 PM UTC
Two cultures worlds apart
some love science and others art
we're told they'll never jell
though Da Vinci drew quite well
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 6:11 AM UTC
Why oh why do I love pie?
The ABCs of it and
the LMNO-Pie of it
A Apple Pie
B Boston cream Pie
C Cherry Pie
D Dutch Apple Pie
E Equation Pie 3.14
F Fruit Pie
G Grandma's Gooseberry Pie
H Humble Pie
I Ice Cream Pie
J Jell-O Pudding Pie
K Kidney Pie
L Lemon Meringue Pie
M Moon Pie
N Nutty Pecan Pie
O Oreo Cookie Crust Pie
P Pud'nin Pie
Q Quick Set Frozen Cream Pie
R Rhubarb Pie
S Sweet Tater Pie
T Tuxedo Pie
U Upside Down Pineapple Pie
V Velvet Truffle Pie
W Whip Cream Pie
X PIE IN THE FACE
Y Yummy Pie
Z Zesty Lemon/Lime Pie
Now you have the XYZ of it
and the PIE of it
Why oh why do you love Pie?
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
I am from too long grass
that left muted green stains on my knees
From rock gardens overrun with punny yellow snapdragons
which delivered into my care all sorts of fascinating creepy crawlers
I'm from ash grey two by fours
which were all together fun to climb on
but gave nasty splinter when they were mad
I'm from the woodchips and sand
that provided me an elaborate landscape
in which to house my boundless imagination
I'm from the tail of sulfur smoke
that burned white hot through the crisp October Sky
and propelled my rocket to high heaven
or so it seemed to my eger eyes
I am from Thursdays
from green and red rhubarb leaves
and dirt under every fingernail
I'm from hurling half-rotten tomatoes
at the fence accross the ally
and running haphazardly from angry neighbors
I'm from lasagna and jell-o
candels on Christmas eve
and the squirt bottle of water
my only defense against ants
I am from obscure old families
who came over like so many others
and played the ***** in the secret choir loft above the church
I'm from woodwinds and piano strings
and never a silent moment
From reading aloud and reading alone
and from those who did the reading
I'm from the future and the present and the past of a million different stories
And I've always been headed towards
Where I'm from.
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 30, 2012 at 2:47 PM UTC
I thought I'd write a villanelle
though form is not my forte
yet I'll try, what the hell
Let's see if I can do this well
as an exercise in structure
I thought I'd write a villanelle
Can I make my verses swell
write five of them as tercets
well I'll try, what the hell
For to my inertia quell
while my muse is absent
I thought I'd write a villanelle
Now I've fallen to the spell
but the next must be a quatrain
so I'll try, what the hell
My words upon the page do jell
and this is almost finished
I thought I'd write a villanelle
then I tried, what the hell
Cynthia Pauline Jones, 10/5/2014
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:26 PM UTC
I tried to explain colors to a person who could not see
But I found it was too hard for me.
Then a thought came into my mind
To put their feelings into color and rhyme.
The first question I asked is:
WHAT DO YOU FEEL ABOUT “LOVE”?
“I feel like I’m flying high above the sky”
Then I will call that GREEN
For high above the earth, that color is seen.
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT
WHEN YOU’RE FEELING “DOWN”?
It’s when I have no one to talk to and no one around.
Then I will call that BROWN.
WHAT ABOUT “SADNESS”?
That is when I lost something that cannot be replaced.
Then I will call that “GREY” for that
Is something which in your heart will stay.
WHAT ABOUT “LAUGHTER”?
That is when my stomach shakes like Jell-O.
Then I will call that emotion “YELLOW”
Then the final question I must ask
WHAT ABOUT GOD?
That is when I am lifted high above
All that I think and feel.
Since GOD is pure, I will call it white
Because he puts your heart and soul into flight.
“ we have enough colors for different emotions
Just like the raindrops that fall into the ocean.
Now the colors no longer have a barrier, because now
It has an emotional carrier.
Emotions and colors go hand in hand, just like the joining
In a wedding band.
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
I'm sick.
No, not meaning 'dope', or 'awesome'.
Like, 'hey! Let's shoot Mariah in the face cause this
Sinus infection is killing her!'
My only friends right now?
My dog.
Maury.
Chapstick.
and
Jell-O.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
Well, gentlemen, it all came together in the end there as
you will see when you study the game film later on. You
will notice that we controlled the line of scrimmage during
the entire second half, which is what turned the whole thing
around after falling behind. The way that we mixed it up on
offense, there was no telling where we were going to attack
from. That is what we have struggled with all year long. We
have been inconsistent, to say the least. But I’m sure that you
would all agree that we are starting to jell at just the right time.
Now, after a rough start to the season, it’s on to the playoffs.
Now is when we really need to focus, or it will be “one-and-out”
time. I can guarantee you one thing and one thing only. This
club has yet to reach its full potential. If we can just bang on all
four cylinders from here on out, then we might make a pretty
****** good run at this puppy. Frankly, I’m looking forward to
the challenge; I know that our guys are. They’ve worked their
butts off all year long. Forget about the record. I’ve never been
a real big fan of statistics. There are other factors involved at this
point in the season. It’s been a pleasure, folks. It’s been a long
time coming, and I am sure that this will not be our last rodeo.
Or is it last song and dance? Well, you know. We’ve got more
bulls to ride, and this is going to be like the Calgary Stampede
now. It’s time to saddle up and to man up; that’s all. Giddy up.
Punch them doggies and call in the cavalry. We have arrived!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 4:52 PM UTC
we did what we could that night
and a supernal being is ashamed.
this is the drift of thought
in the vast ocean of gilded gold
frothing at the edge of rotund:
giving back a silenced enigma,
spewing the answer in an exhaust
of white rancid smoke
dharma burns plastered to cigarette.
burning and burning, afloat are the high-pouncing embers looking for fleeting shades and dagger-ambulations
of a shadow's swagger in tectonic soiree.
we did what we could that night.
like a flash of lightning at the back
of hoarded hills,
or say, something brutal and brash with
modern sensibilities we never jell —
we come not with softness or life
peering out of our eyes like little girls
serenaded by mad men in the eve of
forlorn nights. we did what we could
and some god cringes, winces away
like the erratic dance of candleflame.
the leviathan black spreads its parasol
and we are no strangers.
when our veraciousness starts to pierce
the veil, the populace should start
to worry of their trapped conditions.
we came here for something:
be it flesh, be it wisdom, be it plain inebriations — we will never flinch
at the squalor of tomorrow's sobering.
keep in mind, kaibigan.
it's all levitation and transcendence.
the darkness wept as the car
groans near the end of its immaterial life.
i flick the last cigarette into the grey-faced pavement.
all oceans drowned,
all shadows burgeoned,
all fires emerged plump,
this silent radio rivers
through the wave of this ephemerality,
the onomatopoeia of strangeness,
the thud
of the senseless head of metal
on the body
the clackety-clack
of hours thereafter!
ayeayeaye! the streets sing no mild
appendage. the solstice is lost
in the length and precision of all things.
bringing ourselves to the brink of absence,
our pallid selves set ablaze, emblazoning
the quick life of matchflame or rumble of
thunder — the steady phoenix of
that night! this is learning
to breathe again, o, what currents purloined in vicious swarth as we keep
this river flowing into our throats,
jamming our souls to compelling music.
remember kaibigan,
it's all levitation and transcendence.
Oct 28, 2015
Oct 28, 2015 at 8:03 AM UTC
Oh, Prue she has a patient man,
And Joan a gentle lover,
And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,—
But my true love’s a rover!
Mig, her man’s as good as cheese
And honest as a briar,
Sue tells her love what he’s thinking of,—
But my dear lad’s a liar!
Oh, Sue and Prue and Agatha
Are thick with Mig and Joan!
They bite their threads and shake their heads
And gnaw my name like a bone;
And Prue says, “Mine’s a patient man,
As never snaps me up,”
And Agatha, “Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,
Could live content in a cup,”
Sue’s man’s mind is like good jell—
All one color, and clear—
And Mig’s no call to think at all
What’s to come next year,
While Joan makes boast of a gentle lad,
That’s troubled with that and this;—
But they all would give the life they live
For a look from the man I kiss!
Cold he slants his eyes about,
And few enough’s his choice,—
Though he’d slip me clean for a nun, or a queen,
Or a beggar with knots in her voice,—
And Agatha will turn awake
While her good man sleeps sound,
And Mig and Sue and Joan and Prue
Will hear the clock strike round,
For Prue she has a patient man,
As asks not when or why,
And Mig and Sue have naught to do
But peep who’s passing by,
Joan is paired with a putterer
That bastes and tastes and salts,
And Agatha’s Arth’ is a hug-the-hearth,—
But my true love is false!
2k
Life is displayed in the color green,
Stalks of corn, a field of beans.
The oak tree's leaves, the roses stem,
The fresh mown hay, the forest glen.
Life is displayed in the color yellow,
A daffodil or lemon Jell-o.
The morning sun, a buttercup's wings,
A smiley face, a topaz ring.
Life is displayed in the color brown,
The deep rich soil at the edge of town.
A chocolate chip, a sorrel foal,
Steaming cocoa, a fresh baked roll.
Life is displayed in the color blue,
Neptune's ocean, and berries too.
A mountain stream, the desert skies,
But favorite to me are my little girl's eyes.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 9:18 PM UTC
After years on this earth, I have weathered and grown.
As a child, I did things, I had joy, love, and goals.
In early summers, my life was a canvas for scar tissue:
hot pebbles burned soft skin into calloused glory,
the sun beat down and leathered my skin,
chlorine and dirt turned my young hair to gray.
When I was young, I etched tunnels in my bones,
with crayon and marker, I forged deep ivory valleys.
Some see this as cruelty, a sad deterioration,
but this atrophy is experience, the catalyst of life!
Years later, I sit here next to a painted sunrise.
With jell-o, gray matter rots on my styrofoam tray.
I wish for the summer, hot pebbles, and crayons,
for the laughter of youth and its calloused adventures.
But I've retired, so I sit idly in this plastic wheeled chair,
watching monitors beeping with ebbing heart lines,
grieving for my gray hair as it turns back to brown,
mourning, as my unused bones fill with marrow to the brim,
watching, heartbroken, old age clutching my hand,
as my wrinkled skin smooths away.
Mar 28, 2018
Mar 28, 2018 at 11:39 PM UTC
*
Since you illuminated my SOUL
Since your light pierced my being
Since our LOVE happened...
I am not eager for a journey
I do not desire a caravan
I do not yearn for a convoy
I do not belong here
I do not belong there
I do not fit in a family
I do not jell with friends
The only thing that excites me is "YOU"
BELOVEDZ, Belovedz, belovedz...
The blessing of LOVE within me
Desires "me" living in "YOU"
The reward of seeking inner soul
I desire to live in your being
If there is ever any cure
Of the good longing of my LOVE
It is nothing but merging within YOU
It is nothing but dying for YOU
That's how and why "Nature"
Presented YOU to my soul
The divine healer for my devil LOVE
Your eyes are medicine I drink
The same medicine poisons my heart
Becoming one with you is the only desire left
It is my honor - our LOVE HAPPENED
It will be a BIGGER honor
I annihilate in YOU and YOUR LOVE
I give my breathe in your LOVE
I give my heart, my body, my life in your LOVE
Though I've not decided to hold-on to your LOVE
There is no way I can let go of your LOVE
It's YOUR LOVE that beholds me and my being
YOUR LOVE is the final destination of my LIFE
YOUR LOVE was the thing Buddhists sought NIRVANA
Yes, this is what your LOVE is all about
Only those who LOVE
Will understand the plight of my LOVE
The sorrow, grief and misery of a LOVERz
The one who stands tormented
Without flinching in the "live-fire"
Will understand what it is to be in "LOVE"
My poem is for the flame - BELOVEDZ
My poem is for the moth - LOVERZ
No one else can even understand
The depth of these poetic words in LOVE
"The LOVE story of flame and moth"
*
Jan 7, 2019
Jan 7, 2019 at 10:49 PM UTC
-
-
-
hello
-
my name is unannounced
but i come hearing a sweet beat for you
and it flows like
-
Jell-O
-
specifically the green kind
but that’s too far off topic to matter
to us so
-
mellow
-
by sitting in an armchair
imagining the world to come
though it looks so
-
shallow
-
you'll be pleasantly surprised
to find the glass can never be too full
-
even though we settle too soon
-
love it for three weeks
and then rename it
to forget how
-
hollow
-
it really is inside
but the puppy’s made of painted glass
-
of life i’ve wondered
what we want
while it certainly is challenging
there must be more than what it seems
-
lets examine
our lives when we were kids
we find bruises scrapes and cuts
and your goldfish Tim
he likes to swim in circles cause the world's too big
but he only swims clockwise cause he’s missing a fin
-
now he
-
speeds up
-
grows legs
-
takes form
-
and he
-
gets lost
-
plays God
-
gets born
-
but he loses sight of clarity
and succumbs to the apathy
of time in all its brevity
at every opportunity to
-
return
-
to the Jell-O whose convictions seem far less firm
as they softly fall on flowers wearing f r e s h s n o w
-
goodbye
-
i’ll be missing you for years to come
on lets go fishing we might catch us something *******
about
why don’t we just pretend everything is fine
-
why don’t
we just take a number
get in line
-
why don’t
we search for truth inside our blackest lies
-
how else
to lend true purpose to these fading lives
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 12:38 PM UTC
Darling sister,
with your hair the purest shade of carrot
falling to the middle of your back,
and eyes the clearest blue,
and freckles splattered across your nose and cheeks
like the angels couldn’t stop blessing you once they started.
You look far too much like a ghost of my past.
Your sparkling curiosity,
your tendency to stay up far too late
because you just can’t put your book down,
not yet, because it’s just getting good
and you want to know what’s next.
The innocence of your smile
and the heartiness of your laugh.
You look far too much like a ghost of my past.
Forgive me, but you are scarier
than any monster in the shows I watch.
Because when I think about how you crave my approval,
how you cling to my company
like it’s the last time you’ll ever see me again,
and how you say, “Will I be like you when I grow up?
We’re just like twins! We’re sisters forever!”
It feels me with liquid fear,
like silver nitrate is being pumped through my veins.
You haven’t seen the darker side of me.
Not all of it, not the breaking down of my very psyche
as the world prepares to squeeze the live out of me
the way we squeeze Jell-O through our teeth
because we think it’s fun.
No, you don’t see the times where I don’t want to face the world.
Instead you see this quirky older sister that you probably always wanted,
I know I did.
I want to be that older sister, the one that you look up to,
the one that takes you places and teaches you things and
helps you understand how to survive in this world.
But I’m scared that I can’t.
I’m scared that one day I’m going to fall,
like Sherlock off of St. Bart’s.
But unlike Sherlock,
I don’t think I’ll be getting back up again.
I don’t want you to see me fall.
I want to be The Boy Who Lived for you,
and **** it if I’m not going to try.
Sure, I’m terrified of all this role model stuff,
it’s not easy, not by a long shot.
But you need me and I’m going to do the best I can.
Love,
Your Big Sister 4Ever
Jun 8, 2013
Jun 8, 2013 at 10:53 PM UTC
Flexible old ladies
Extending their worn out muscles
Was first opinion about yoga
After taking class my life enlightened
Eyes contemplated the world
Push ups and sit ups is Kindergarten level
She requires all your mind and energy for full nourishment
Body bent like graph
She lifted my arms and legs into sky
While I pushed my body with force towards the ground
Thorax laid flat like a blue print
Back pulled up like crow bar
2 hours of meditating felt like two days in furnace
Filled with negative tension and tempting thoughts
All my problems expelled through my ****
She gave me the best love I ever had
Her tongue licked wax out of ears so I could hear truth
My mind was fighting against my body
Trying to escape this bomb *** high that made me feel like Jell-o
But brought back so many painful memories that I pretended to forget
That’s when she grabbed insecurity’s arms and whispered to me
“Baby, don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”
Her soft lips caressed my stiff brain down to my feet
Her breath massaged my bone marrow till I was unconscious
I awoke a healed soul
By Shannon Pollard
© July 18, 2007
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 6:29 PM UTC
**** saved Snail ,well
But saw the meandering jell
Yet saw no **** shell!!*
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 1:39 PM UTC
Who lives in a pineapple under the sea?
one glass of Ovaltine- oops, I had three
can we fix it? yes we can!
a plethora of beanie babies always at hand
no play-doh or silly putty on the couch
remember the smell of York patties when you opened the pouch?
Teletubbies is on, I hear the nu-nu
my beloved game boy and Gremlins; Gizmo's my booboo
come along and see what's new
it's me, you, and Zooboomafu
remember when Emily wished on a dragon scale?
that's what started the Dragon Tales
I'd drop anything to catch the Rugrats show
Tommy, Dil, Angelica, Chuckie was kinda slow
Cinnamon Toast Crunch in my bowl
Soccer Boppers and those little ugly trolls
Jell-O pudding and Dragon Ball Z
I knew the Fresh Prince song when I was only three
I still watch SpongeBob and now I'm in high school
just because you keep it real doesn't make that you're uncool.
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 2:38 PM UTC
They say to do this and that.
but you can't make me do it.
cuz i am my own person.
they lock us in a billing with only gray
for a color.
On every wall i see.
i fill like Im in a jell with the teacher
dwelling nonsince bull shiv in my head.
But it don't say my thoughts.
cuz i have my own opinion.
But i bite my toung.
I ask the teachers if the government
told them to teach this nonsins.
they say i have to know it.
i say i don't care to and any
ways you can't make me
cuz Im not a robot that you can just program.
Like you are.
And any ways you should know
that you can't make me.
cuz i am my own person.
So stop trying to dwell my head full
of shiv.
to my teachers.
Oct 9, 2012
Oct 9, 2012 at 12:13 AM UTC
Perhaps this is the way Picasso got started,
as a baby sitting in a high chair, dumping the
dish and the cup, the fork or spoon to the floor,
delighting in how the green of the pea met
with the yellow gravy, how the mashed
potatoes looked set against the wood plank
of the kitchen floor. Did he laugh with glee
to see the orange yolk of the egg swirled in
the white of the milk, how the red Jell-O
looked floating in the yellowed chicken soup?
Later, when painting became more than
a figment in his mind’s eye, did he recall this
early experimentation, this playing with food?
I prefer to think of you in this way daughter,
dabbling in colors like a young Picasso, your
only tools the fingers in your food. It is much
easier on my psyche to channel happy
thoughts your way, preferable to my getting
upset, aggravated every time you dump your
food, my blood pressure rising to the roof.
At every meal you fend off any attempts to
feed you, preferring to lift your own fork or
spoon then send them sailing, as if to say,
I will be in charge of my world. I will
command what is at hand. As my mind
wanders, I begin dabbling in daydreams,
futuristic thoughts… I am beaming with
pride… you are being called a genius as you
are applauded for your latest masterpiece…
but swiftly I am brought back to reality, as
just as quickly you hurl from your high chair
this meal’s rendition, today’s most recent
work of art.
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 7:44 PM UTC
You hate it when I stare at you
I know.
But you don't understand that
When I look at you
The world
It just...
It just stops.
It stops and nothing else exists except for you
And my eyes looking at you.
There is nothing else.
The people in the room
Melt away.
The worries I have?
All *******
There's no yesterday
No tomorrow
No differences that can tear us apart
Or tear my eyes off you.
You make everything else
Distant
And insignificant
Compared to the magnitude of my
Love
For you.
And the beauty and depth and wonders
Of the soul that I see
In your eyes.
I see your pain
And your joy;
I notice your laughter and your struggles and all the things that intrigue you
And all of it fascinates me.
I want to know all of it.
I want to know what turns you on,
I want to know what makes you click,
I want to know what you think about
When you have long car rides to yourself.
I want to know what infuriates you
I want to know what on earth could turn your beautiful eyes into fires of hatred and loathing,
Or melt them into pools of the softest adoration.
I want to know your future,
And what you see in it.
And I want to know if you prefer blue Jell-O or red.
And do you ever wish you were short
Just so you could always win at hide-and-go-seek?
Or maybe as tall as a redwood so that you would never have to wonder how a bird sees the world.
If you could go to the moon, would you?
Or would you stay here, in mock safety, to welcome home those who went in your place?
If you could have one super power
Would you care to hear everyone's thoughts
Or would you want to be able to run
Fast as a speeding bullet
Away from here.
I want to know your wildest fantasies
And can we make them a reality together.
I want to know your past
I want to know what makes you who you are
And what brought you here
To me.
I want to know everything
Hold back nothing
But not until you're ready.
When I look at you
I just want to talk.
Forever.
About everything and nothing
And when I look at you I want to sit in silence
Because that's comfortable too.
When I look at you
I want to spill my soul
Because I know you'd catch it.
I can see it
In your eyes.
When I look at you
I draw from your strength
I refresh from your smiles
And I remember who I am.
When I look at you
You are the only thing that exists.
You
And my eyes looking at you.
And it is truly beautiful.
You are truly beautiful.
And that
Is why I stare.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 12:16 AM UTC
I find myself eating strange things
Strange things in different forms
An avocado-flavored Jell-O
Or the fine zest of a rose's thorn
I find myself a curious person
But curiosity killed the cat
I fear that if I eat too many strange things
My body will just grow too fat
Even now I can't stop myself
From devouring these strange creations
I still need a bite of that puffer-fish sandwich
Oh, how I always give in to temptations
Fried Tarantulas, how they melt in my mouth
Slime Sandwiches, the texture is amazing
I can't let go of this hobby
To stop would just be infuriating!
But now my Fridge is empty
But I still have a craving for strange food
So I'll go to the Farmer's Market
And once again I'll be in a good mood
You may call me a mad scientist
Since I always try to make something new
And also because whenever you come inside my house
I guarantee that you'll be sure to say "P-U!"
Apr 3, 2010
Apr 3, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
It's the night,
before another rotation,
things feel right,
unspoken words,
have turned into one way actions,
elusive internet *******
replaced by the piggle wiggle's,
chainsaw snoring,
the room smells of seroquel, feet,
and the helping of hope,
sticks from a recovery melted poet,
legs of jell-o,
mood of mellow,
dancing twilight in a skyline,
of building and buses,
a year ago he was drunk,
and jail was his entitlement a week,
later,
two years and more,
have evaporated to chemicals and nights that no longer exist,
and lust,
and fair share of unalibitical rust,
the sounds and smells he's,
holding onto this year,
the only hourglass sand bits,
not fallen through, for the feels of fear,
will only disappear,
Birthdays in rehab,
birthdays ad non infinitum,
courtships of programming & meetings,
the poet,
now producing naturally foreign unforced smiles,
better get his sponsor,
to sign his slip.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 4:22 PM UTC