Mechanical
lobsters and soothsaying stingers
Burnt
sienna paints the horizon’s sky
With
a jagged nonchalance, we are privy, briefly,
To
the reasons why, saturnine and solstice laments
Thy
fallen sword, lying neatly by upturned bowls of porridge
I
often speak in parables. I’ve been known
to skip
A
pebble or three. I’m free, but not
really, it’s just,
That
I’ve long now since, convinced myself of this
I
often make not sense, of anything at all.
I rearrange
Celebrations
to eliminate applause. I connect the dots
that
Were
never meant to touch. I crush, too many
times. I crutch
Not
often enough
Sometimes
I enjoy nothing more, than hearing the poppycock
Squeal
it’s tales of impossibly fascinating exaggerations and somehow
Conniving
myself to believe, that every word of it is very, very real.
Yes,
sometimes I convince myself they must be true, if only to widen
The
scope and view, of what’s potential, of what may exist, past
The
horizon’s known into the land of now.
I was off the grid the past day or so, not completely back quite yet, but kind of, sort of. Unfortunately this took place on a tuesday, hmm..kind of a reverse of that song On a Tuesday by Linoleum, but anyhow, I missed out on OLN this week, which is always a highlight for me, but luckily they have archives. With that I urge anyone who hasn't already, to head on over to D'Verse and check out all the poetry on display
