PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

We've all done it

in our minds seen

the secret lives

of dead things

seen dolls and

action mans

converse in the

bedroom and even

cutlery talking

to kiwis about the

lemons



the quiet dances

of shadows are

their sneakings

the mad eye - corner

maybe - seens

are their scratches

of itches

they just couldnt bear

and we do sudden

   pirouttes

in bedrooms swearing

we saw them smiling



I could maybe explore

our desires to see

dead things move

or talk of the sadness

of potatoes living in

cupboards, planning

families on dark

shelves of bungalows

growing to love their

masters until their

living climax begging

for mercy tear stained

on forks



I have felt a

tender pity for chips

in deep - freezes

in empty stores

at night

looking only for a

frozen comrade

in their agony

I could talk of

my empathy for

dead things



this hit me

at around 4 A.M.

in a store of

plane parts

forty - four thousand

plane parts

each personality lonely

in its vastness

each tiny screw

an Easy - Jet to

Falaraki every

aisle blameless.



I found a tiny washer

about the size of a

thought kicked under

a bin and ignored it

and each of its

trillion atoms

someone will be paid

to notice a man may

not know tho

a computer knows

that washer under bin

in factory could

ignored become a

screaming headline

wreck of dead tourists.



tho ignored

it had a million

universes

inside of it

tho a maybe

mass murderer

all it wanted

was a friend



so i picked it up

and said hello

I put it in my pocket

knowing in a

ridiculous world

it could cost my

ridiculous job

or even, I thinking it

a decadent polo mint

it could cost me

my ridiculous life