PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

A crossing wind
flutters over the lawn.
A black car shuffles down
                           the street as
I ease my bike into the traffic.
Only hope is for sale.
It sits like a dusty jar
                                  left stagnant
                                              in the basement.
I listen to the sound of the swamp
                              that flocks like mosquitoes
                                                     in and out of me.
Joined on the road by
                        other black shuffling cars,
I tense my buttocks in
                                  preparation for
                                                   the ass fucking
                                                              I'll receive
for daring to think my own mind.
Leave a tiny spark of departing fashion
           as you drain me of my will to create.
I'll drop an arm across the table
                        so you can bleed me.
A crossing wind
flutters over the lawn.