PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

there seems to be

a shake age in the line

marred tenderness marked by

some unfathomable sub climate

I never was anything but

a rare riddle

leashed attraction

a moth eaten muse

you leer at me

in a rage over cold gravy

how embarrassingly slighted

I now feel

as I am but the stale biscuit

that is in love with your cold

lumps

the weary grass in the distance

demands that I study it closely

ignoring the fact that out of

detached vigor

your hand absently caresses the

tray's edge

how beautiful it would feel

to be that tray at this very

precise moment

my uneaten pickle too could only be

just so pleased if that were indeed

my spot to rest my limp green

vegetable spine upon

where as back to now

beyond your joking lust

and far too blaze' attitude

you hardly notice the same old me

it seems I'm not human

I'm just a silly game of

Do I want her?, Do I want her not?

and it seems the nots have it

though I must admit

that demanding grass

only this morning just

freshly mowed

still protects

luckily for me

all my ignored love

and keeps it safe in its

finely landscaped meadow

and away from my deeply preoccupied

and far too serious eyes

quite magically so

such hopeless love

remains ever thus so

quite creatively hidden

out there

no matter how much I might blink

or where I may haphazardly look

abruptly

I rise

and leave you to grumble with your

inferior selection

of food again

entirely too unaware to even be

believed

with brisk efficient movements

I dispose of my own hardly

touched lunch

thinking

cafeterias

are the stupidest places in the

world to fall so dazedly in love

why, I must be out of my tree............

(June 29, 1999)