"lockaway" poems
~
*In her sulking-place
alone and naked
framed in soft sepia
—the vintage, harlequin hue
at this supposed faded hour
she sits looking back on memory
she sits and stares
into the boudoir mirror
at herself
at her embonpoint
yes, at these *******
—at their landscape
how they fall
(like Niagara)
where they point
(like a compass)
what they tell (so fondly)
when pressed together
about their time
—their work and play
towers on the precipice
of judgment
both callous and
uncharitable
if the mirror
truly be her reflection
her vision is turned around
as illusion
—a study of tonality and tolerance
for one's own flesh
the room
an invitation
or perhaps
a lockaway
where she even keeps secrets
from herself*
~
Apr 26, 2021
Apr 26, 2021 at 10:37 AM UTC
Who am I anyway
When I sway
Into the gateway
Of truth and what I portray
It’s every single day
The person I convey
It’s my game I play
But then I replay
Every single payday
To my pathway
Into my dark gateway
My supply on the way
I always over pay
Then myself I lockaway
Then I hit that powder play
Then another railway
I can’t stop or pull away
I sit and stay
Till I hit the airwaves
I never feel ok
But this feeling I obey
My problems I downplay
Then to my dismay
I can’t breakaway
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 8:30 PM UTC