Author Information
I Can Taste It
Floor boards creaking,
Cracked and withered hands
stretching toward more
etheral bodies strewn about
in your mind's absent core,
Where are the hollow ones?
The ones without purpose
who are a mess with distant age,
The ones who count
Out loud and live without fear,
Thinking is a chore
for those without privilege
Somewhere there's
A house with a knob,
a pair, and a care
lost in the south
knowing not where
but I press onwards, brothers and sisters-
Lax in tasks
Low on gas
the tank ran out
but the body still lasts,
Am I uneasy is
a question not for
polite dinner conversation
when your station
can't wait for the plate
you've loaded for gestation,
A smile and a fork
a while to retort
and your rebuttle
is akin to a loss of skin
a fine wine still uncorked,
you are stealth left in the dust
as bark on the trees
you are seasoned in surroundings
be it not for the devil
you would burn before god,
leaving the child
to be left to the rod,
without a dad
so to say
in his own little pod
he conspires against us,
When an adult does roam
he'll climb his way up
to rule on a throne
and remember the ones
who shit on his bones,
Ripped out his home,
Split up his parents
when he was barely grown,
A knock on the door
from a stranger still,
a call on the phone
with anger builds,
the horror told
makes him a sinner
a new beginner is born,
The seeds have been broadcast
to starry eyes of fate
for the hours are lodged
and the dead men are late
we
watch
you
slumber
then thunder
