PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

We blaze the darkening highways. Cactus flowers are melancholy in blue moonbeams. The horizon ahead whispers “fresh meat” chanting. You’re stuck in a dream and whether it’s good or bad doesn’t matter because it’s just a dream… one long drawn-out penance living like a peasant in your crazy mother's elaborate little runaway escapade

Latinos were landscaping and the birdsong was youthful and vibrant in the trimmed summer trees. My sister stepped out of the passenger seat which I then folded open and joined the ladies on the driveway with bent backs cracking. You could smell the freshness of awareness in the air and a keen strange feeling flooded my system… fairly exhilarating I dare say. I looked around for a moment and then carried my things inside the house.

The cats like vampires hissed from aback their plastic boxes and snuggled stiffly in the dim. Their whiskers twitched as they sniffed for hints. Boxes throughout seem to breathe fiercely with the presence of the Past. Be wise stay inside like the cats.

The next day I checkout a barbershop to buzz my dreads off. It was a humble downtown shop. The barber happened to be busy grooming a couple toddlers. I waltzed out onto the curb and smoked a cigarette while I waited for my turn and watched the cars rumble the road. Old classics with a twist of silver drills by slick street mechanics who know. I smush the smoke beneath my toes. The barber welcomed me kindly with a nice, clean cut.

Now it’s time to find a job.

*

I met a fella, whose names to become the bane of where I fantasized relinquishment would endow. Powerhouse of a sentence for the nonexistent crowd that is my audience. If it doesn’t make much sense to you, I'll have you know it’s not necessarily supposed to. Keep it vague play it safe. Anyways, he was perched on a discreet, backstreet curb, taking a break from the inner city alms bowl and chaos as he slobbered over a decoy Dasani plastic bottle of vodka. straight up!

The shadows were shivering silver beneath

The full moon’s gloom through foggy trees..

It was peculiar enough being pushed into such unique community, thanks to my mom’s trying triumph by moving away from that which never seemed to suit her soul... but what’s this got anything to do with me? was I birthed indeed?

Our home sits directly across the street from a cemetery

with a horrendous possum problem. Possums by the plenty 

possibly only play dead as part of some pretentious jest