Not So Fast
But there is a chasm
filled with scripts
Somewhere there’s a rusty
RCA Victor mike
And a Yamaha amp
with peculiar buzz
of mosquito secrets
And no one has been able
to fill the ad.
Openings and closings delayed
with the same repartee of one of these
* * *
Can’t both stare in the mirror
in the same moment.
Two wholly wholes
Connected – a point just beyond
Craniums fused into one –
of cowboy songs.
A multi-appended chimera
facing two ways
And when one goes
I’ll have to carry
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And This Is Why, Outscapes, poetry |
avant-garde, away, books, confessional, creative writing, distance, epic, everyday, existentialism, experience, poetry |
fell in, leaning over the edge of the moon,
danced on a shell
made the sea listen to the sound of feet.
waves curled and asked for a photo with the horizon
to oblige was nothing new
but was wanted
so was granted.
And all will pass
into the indivisible love
Remember that -oh so long
ago when we were
ships whose sails
were not made
that day hour by
And ‘oh these things happen’
But now, the winged
octopus will no longer
guide this —!
For life is not always a cabaret
Sometimes it’s just pitching
coffee cups at the trash
after consuming endless days
of creamy middles
and no wafers
as the signs
while the unspoken words
are put out to sea
And what a shanty they’ll make
And the scurvy they’ll cure
And the doldrums they’ll surpass
And oh the cargo hulls
they’ll begin to fill
So soon they’ll
throw unnecessary passengers overboard.
And This Is Why, Drowned By Story/Letters to No One, Outscapes, poetry |
avant-garde, creative writing, desire, distance, image, lyrical, narrative, occurrences, poetry, slipstream |
The gentle caresses of a curse lull to sleep both grace and karma neither quick to action and fate is just another name for coincidence.
Foolish thing desire,
A hollow bell summoning attachment to the feast but there are no silver grains of rice and apricots with emerald pits but empty as coconut relieved of its juice.
A cocoon leading to metamorphosis or worse yet, back to caterpillar, crawling up branch to find that particular leaf.
There is some happiness stolen from it bite by bite.
Eating without satisfaction but not eager to see Ramadan or Lent. The fast seasons leaving one begging for dates devoid of tahini or just a scrap of meat and wants feel more like needs.
But this could push moth into being
Then the sweaters should beware.
And This Is Why, Drowned By Story/Letters to No One, Outscapes, Uncategorized |
abstract, creative writing, fast, image, poem, poetry, prose poetry, satisfaction, slipstream, submission, writing |
These very words carry a grudge against themselves
Crashing on their own ears with bad decisions in tow awaiting the rebuttal of a thousand foreign tongues
Meteor showers off in space somewhere between this desk and light years away with all those sci-fi heroes, guns, sabres, and phasers set to stun
Nothing is drunk to health anymore but friends and the future and some left for those spirits too young to know better than to mistake secrets for wishes and prayers
Hand in hand with whatever landed this pen here with thoughts unspoken and undesired venturing deep (enough) within looking for Virgil but falling for another