PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

During the brief conversations, you can

smell the chemicals mixing

You can hear the tapping of fingers and

thumbs burning holes into the console

And it's not tough to grasp the emotional antics,

because you have been spewing them out latley on a

need to know basis



With your prophetic jive and my philosophical drive, I

have no doubts that we could flatten the Earth and

forfeit gravity, my friend.



Write. Write about the politics of lust and

its antsy side effects

I imagine its as useful as an ovarian cyst or

a tumor in the bladder

And I can't help that we are both victims of

grey matter....

It's a congo rythm shaking up the concept of context, but

you'd say that tapping has long since dwindled



Inhale the new era of stigma

Stain it on the wall: for a good time call

And I consider whole-heartedly to pick up the

phone and relieve the persistent itch that not

even anatomy can heal

Because when you become a contradiction to your

own words, you bleed more profoundly

And you become a walking tragedy to your

own artistic tendencies, my friend



The after effect is as beneficial as a severed limb

You'll want what you can't get back

You'll want what you've sealed in glass and threw

into the fire, like a balled up sheet of paper that

would not speak back.