Tastes like
the velocity
of lead
in my head.
I crave it,
my tongue aches
to be split
so I can scratch
that itch on the
inside of my skull.
Tag Archives: Poem
Preposition
You were
something
like a jailor
according to
my fellow
inmates
but they
didn’t quite
seem to know
why my sentence
ended with a
preposition.
Thermoplastic
Let your secrets
set up in your
thermoplastic heart,
settled for the near future,
until the moment that you get hot
enough to flow
and you
remind us all
what it means
to either be in love
or have a temper.
Just a conversation
You inflate
your
paper lungs
with a
hot air balloon
whoosh
and then
you ignite
with a
harsh grasp
gently
squeezing not pulling
the trigger
on the
sugar sweet venom
of your
frag grenade
unsolicited
opinions.
Misunderstood
You are a
muffin
in chains.
A placenta
in jeans.
A sack of
hot cheese.
You are a
misunderstood
non sequitur.
Learn to listen,
please.
Taste
Come with me
and
taste
the silence.
Let it pass
your epoxy lips.
Cuz I’m rubber
and you’re glue
and one of
these materials
is
clearly
better
for
sex
toys.
Lips
I can
identify
your lips
from a
hundred paces.
Go ahead,
ask me
if I know
that your avatar
is a real
modified
photo of you.
I’d like to see
what you
believe.
Think of them.
Think of
all the things
you’re never
gonna know.
Let that percolate
in the silence
that you’ve formed
under your skin.
So many things
about so many people
in such a
damn big planet.
But you
specifically,
will continue to know
very little about me,
moving forward.
Snot and Tears.
My husband
didn’t change
the laundry over.
That’s all.
He’s asleep,
burrito’d into a fuzzy blanket, oblivious
to the world around him.
My world.
So I chose
To go downstairs.
To my grandmothers bed.
Which,
six months later,
still smells like her.
I wish I
couldn’t feel.
Couldn’t sit here,
drinking her in
while wondering
what exactly
about her
wrinkled, knowing smile
that I’m forgetting
at
this
very
moment.
I need a goddamn hug.
A whisper and a cuddle.
Someone to wipe my tears away
and tell me that she loved me,
she cares,
that this pain isn’t without reason
or without end.
But I hate to wake up valuable, contributing members of society.
Not for me.
Not for this.
All he had to do was change the laundry over.
Then maybe I wouldn’t be
percolating
in snot and tears.
Silence
There is a soft and subtle silence
in these lost and lonely moments.
Rather than we try to change it, perhaps we should let it change us.
Rexicorn 