hanging lines.
Hemmingway staccato.
blind to music
malignant
ill-prepared;
beneath the crawl
twisting grass of hyacinth
knots seasons fiddles
scurrying like blood;
pregnant with the plague
that rapes the cyclones circle of the moon;
by hells own hand
came buttermilk
dripping from the torso of a tongue
elite and censored
pasteurized
embalming fruits from the streets of Babylon;
mild mannered meek
is this my final year?
boned-marrow sketches leaves between my eyes.
I have served your wishes well
bled freely from your kisses on my wrist.
but sleep I crave
as slave to dreams as black as devils-stout;
cut me out of paper
parcel me as sinus and a sneeze
now terror and the squeeze of deaths delight
lights my way
cold irons bound
as Dylan in decay;
placebo kind
Monet in a fountain
cactus blood
floods my mind one second at a time.
blind as love
mercurial as tin;
one day I'll paint my masterpiece
promiscuous and thin;
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 17th, 2023 15:25
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments2
Sounds like a plea to the dark side to give you some peace and quiet. you paint your very own masterpiece every time. ❤️
you read my words very well Teddy.
bless you;
You paint the picture so well with your word choice and imagery.
most kind
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