On the backs of
flies
we wait for the
next thing.
Something is
always coming.
A birth or death,
food or hunger
hatred
laughter
love...
Something is always
coming around the
corner.
The Mad Hatter with
mushroom tea.
A strange color of
blue that tastes like
almonds.
A vagina that sparkles
in the night.
Listless mornings
of languid
walks with the
wife in the cool
of the evening.
A knife in the back,
a shark attack,
or maybe, just
possibly, you write
a poem about
waiting for the
next thing.
-
Author:
Thomas W Case (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 12th, 2025 09:20
- Comment from author about the poem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7tpMDoNXg_U Here is a link to my YouTube channel where I read my poetry to promote my books, Seedy Town Blues, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse, and my latest, Sleep Always Calls. They are available on Amazon. www.thomaswcase.com
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 36
Offline)
Comments3
It is on the back of flies that germs of thought come and this poem seems to have hatched and in decay many life forms thrive. A poem that blooms fertilized by the rot of life. Nicely done Thomas
Thank you so much.
Excellent write
Thank you.
You're welcome
This write has thoroughly bloomed from all the decay, enjoyed the read
Thank you, my friend.
You are very welcome
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