(no subject)
on our stomachs we lay a pitcher of grape flavored creativity fermenting in white walls the spout lets a waterfall through to our glasses the fruit flies keep their distance and patiently buzz safely suspended seemingly by strings invisible to the eye breeze challenges hats tip it west to prevent lift off, i strum a riff off to reverberate trees and disappear into oblivion a faint gasp of strings temporal fall dead at my feet only for the grass to absorb it, store it in its roots and push it towards new green dull razor blades.
your poetry an act disappoints the vocal cords and like a dog waiting by the door waiting to get out, you were too busy with your grocery bags to notice as she escapes to the city traffic and eventual horns of a braking car. your teeth hear the pollution coming and attempt to attract the opposite poles, teeth together menacing, a dam of enamel to prevent you making a fool of yourself, but your feeble mind has a trick up its sleeve and takes the reigns, submitting and bullying your teeth, warning of punishment, avoidance of dental appointments and daily brushings, the teeth give up, lips following the leader fearing repercussions and loss of red luster, blood diverted by the brain a sanction of oxygen for your third world lips. your sorry words are muttered with causal conviction, when did you think you were a poet. was it over a cup of copy-cat coffee reading your fearless idols life works as you take breaks from small epiphanies to hit "next" on your ipod? was it in class when a boy that wants to sleep with you told you there was talent on those pages? the judges gavel has fallen on your green notebook, stamped, grade D, deemed uninspirational, too many lines stolen from dead poets who no longer can guard their works, and now that their guard is down you slip through windows to their libraries at night, claiming intellectual anarchy. the flag you wave is unfamiliar to your own conscious and contains ink from too many souls to name, dripping words, stars, colors, shapes, and works as it blows in the wind of your sorry breath. it oxidizes and combusts into small pieces of fabric you disgrace, walk through crunching like autumn leaves. poetry forgive her, she knows not what she says.
your poetry an act disappoints the vocal cords and like a dog waiting by the door waiting to get out, you were too busy with your grocery bags to notice as she escapes to the city traffic and eventual horns of a braking car. your teeth hear the pollution coming and attempt to attract the opposite poles, teeth together menacing, a dam of enamel to prevent you making a fool of yourself, but your feeble mind has a trick up its sleeve and takes the reigns, submitting and bullying your teeth, warning of punishment, avoidance of dental appointments and daily brushings, the teeth give up, lips following the leader fearing repercussions and loss of red luster, blood diverted by the brain a sanction of oxygen for your third world lips. your sorry words are muttered with causal conviction, when did you think you were a poet. was it over a cup of copy-cat coffee reading your fearless idols life works as you take breaks from small epiphanies to hit "next" on your ipod? was it in class when a boy that wants to sleep with you told you there was talent on those pages? the judges gavel has fallen on your green notebook, stamped, grade D, deemed uninspirational, too many lines stolen from dead poets who no longer can guard their works, and now that their guard is down you slip through windows to their libraries at night, claiming intellectual anarchy. the flag you wave is unfamiliar to your own conscious and contains ink from too many souls to name, dripping words, stars, colors, shapes, and works as it blows in the wind of your sorry breath. it oxidizes and combusts into small pieces of fabric you disgrace, walk through crunching like autumn leaves. poetry forgive her, she knows not what she says.