Nights at the round table!
Spouts of hot tea
sloshed into cups of tiny china.
Cards and clinking glasses,
glinting toothy smiles!
One nods off
after too many Jameson’s.
Piggyback up the stairs,
unfold him into bed, hah!
Open a window, will you?
What, tired already?
It’s only two!
Monthly Archives: June 2020
Spirits
I’m seeing more somethings
in the sighing air
Distances to dramas,
beatific in their flash,
are shortened.
Though I once feared the fear,
lungs of sponge breathe it in,
baptizing its fire,
and I am well.
I am well.
Breakdown
I speak in tongues
sometimes.
Surely at night,
in deep sleep,
but now, of late,
in broad day.
It started with watery voices,
the makers of dream.
We argued, for sport.
But they’re no longer day blind,
and I mimic their lies.
A blank slate
I do not need a bowl of salvation for i see people dying each day the walls of fragile mind separating recklessly. Florals of weak mind abstain from …
A blank slate
Blackface
When I woke up
this morning
I laid there for a bit
Idly went to scratch my nose
then nearly had a fit
Someone else’s hand was there,
with skin of ebon brown
I ran my fingers through my hair
It felt like eiderdown
I went to find the looking glass
to see what face was there
Expecting not the veritas
that I was meant to bear.
This darkened face
this different nose
this cauliflower ear
that now replaced
my beigey rose
and filled me up with fear
How could I go out like this
and look over my shoulder
Walk in fear and maybe miss
the chance of growing older?
A man, a plan, a cabal
Associate with the simple
Learn what tickles fancies
Amplify, in bellicose bellow
Whip into a scripted frenzy
Let loose the sheep
who think themselves lions
but are infected with the surety of lies
and the enfeeblement of reason
Then cull the herd
to make them docile
Familiars
I have clown eyes,
drawn and bagged by time.
Cauliflower ears
tuned to a natural E.
Chittering teeth,
made sharp by erosion,
fit to snag the tongue in the cheek.
A coconut carapace
to hold my hat
and support these sliding spectacles.
And the slow regard of a timeworn tortoise.
Lightheart
How can you remain
so starlike,
even through this sorry strife?
You show here each day,
and give things away.
A funny word,
a pun or two,
a walk with you,
a curious view.
Lightheart I call you,
but know that I see
that your cup
no longer runneth over.
Would that I could fill it.
Aremyfeetofftheground 