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Argue.
My soul needs a breath of fresh air.
To be stripped down,
beaten and hung over
the clothes line nestled
in the overgrown lawn
speckled with
little piles of cat shit.
Summer warm wind blessings abound.
It's 3:33 in the afternoon and my death grip,
still tense, fingering those
tiny holes in your Swiss cheese mind.
I'm too tired to argue but
that's all we ever do.
I need a sturdy suitcase and
a one way ticket.
A suitcase with nice things to
wear and shoes ready for walking.
Walking to interviews, under microscopes,
furrowed brows, firm handshakes,
yellowed teeth and plenty of,
"We'll get back to you."
But sir, I want you to know
that you're fucking
with a heavyweight.
I was born that way.
Lighting fires for fun and
holding doors open
for the unappreciative.
Raymond Strickland
July 7, 2017
“Lighting fires for fun
“Lighting fires for fun and
holding doors open
for the unappreciative.“- love that.
reading all that you have posted,
really great stuff!
A Dynamic Write
from the poet's voice inside & beneath several layers of soul tissue, lurking there suddenly appearing in the fingers and the imagination and reality and finally, out on the page. U r a fine writer - this poem is the proof! - sincerely, Lady A