it stands but doesn't move.
were it to move would I shove it any more?
a lump of congealed moussaka
the other side of skin.
a heart that wouldn't pump a liver dry.
praise be to the one in his coat and tails
if all else fails, blink once the talisman.
your lucky charm came locked with no preserve.
there was no way out,
all key's lead flowers permanently ill.
the long haul days brought laughing gas a stitch.
not once did the shortest day of landscape roll
from toll booth to the long arch of a foot.
it was the killers touch of perfume on the wheel
turning clock-wise west on an even keel
that drove us mad and fucked our laundry bag.
what cannot sleep has lost the right to die.
we croak and lather sedatives to re-invent old lines
with the baby-crap on orange peel.
me, my timber-laugh to your vein of flies.
what cannot swim has lost the right to fly.
it stands but doesn't move
this pocket-book of photographs.
it was the bore of vague vocabulary
that did us both to death.
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 28th, 2024 12:22
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 17
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments2
Superb work, my friend.
most kind Thomas
If only we could choose to make a monent stand still a moment in time and forever keep it there, but such is life we are not such magicians. Your words are truly felt and even wanting so desperately to turn a clock back even for a mere moment we know that we cannot, therefore we wait for the next fase. Your work is stunning dear Melvin, as original as it gets and I'm truly humbled to read it Sir. 🌹
i think it is I that am the humble one Teddy.
thank you my very close and dear frfiend.
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