January 25, 2016

it was when the lens was in warm yellow...

it was when the lens was in warm yellow that I threw up this poem

mirror and tine 
pissing just fine 
a-spell binding 
tide and reading from
my soul, amidst wane...

my humanity goes 
throes in rows 
of, I am thee 
and me, in serenade 

sometimes disgustingly 
rejoiced to revolted 
elated to apathy, in reign 
explaining pain only to myself 
at the intersections 
of almost \and
boxing out the sun 
praying to myself 
no explanations 
would ever be needed 
when it came 
to my behavior desiring 
rabbit holed falling numb 
sailing away from time...

your terminal to perpetual 
divinity, I have coveted 
with no holds barred...

the candy shoppe is in olde towne too 
and this is where I do go looking in my worn shoes
I go a-guided, feeling felt by poured toothed blind neon...

knowing what I had already decided 
I was buying into, tonight I was to chase, 
this local shine as it seems fine enough 
to write this, in, a right now, 
with a what and why 
I was a-wanting 
not far behind, in tow...

this has gone on for so many years 

occasionally poems like this 
would recede  and erode 
like my gums do to old memories 
teething to you, the reader to find 
poking up through the ground
like a crocus perhaps, bones 
of a poem, before Spring arrives...


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