PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Miracles:
yeast forms rising from the
listless egg yokes
infested with the maggots of the faithful.

Evenings always struck me speechless while
suns slipped behind the cresting waves;
screaming in vibrates
never meant to be experienced through the eardrum.
Variables fell fizzing from
every other curve of lips
reaching through the layers of their own self righteousness
bent on engulfing me;
eating me in one delicate nibble.

Another yard or two away the
bees sing their songs of infestation in
every dreary tree-hole
dampened with new formed honey.
Sticky sweet:
come closer so we may catch you.

Of all the children who crested the waves
you were always my favorite
and I swear I thought of you
late at night while driving,
always driving,
with my headlights on
as they bounced over road kill
splattered so lovely at the bends in the road.

What am I going to do when it is time to run again?

Imagine I’m not a dreamer and could stay in one place
when the sun falls from beyond the sky
and the breeze calls to me to follow.
You want to know what I dream at night
so I’ll show you:
tie you down to a town too small for my apatite
with all the faces I never wanted to know.
Suffocate you with familiarity.

Fuck familiarity.
Let the maggots keep their honey
and the faithful their miracles:
their yokes at high noon.
They stank of  lost ideals and dreams left out to spoil.

My life has never been a bed of roses,
but I know I’d miss the thorns.
I’ll take my losses and cash the winnings;
time wasted can never be retrieved
so to hell with expectations,
moral inclinations.
I’d rather be struck speechless any day.