PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The glass of my right eye is splotchy and red. A beautiful cabernet?

I look at the paper; it is marred by cigarette ash, so much for therapy

And psychological philosophies.

My hands are stained with  mascara I don't remember putting on,

Time to paint the pretty fishes for the happy children.

I feel I hear I feel the cars driving by on that highway beyond the trees.

I look at my clock. It is exactly 4 A.M.

I am not crazy.