Pure, unfiltered creativity is a lost art; usually lost around puberty. Enter poetry. |
It just so happens that I want to know every nook and cranny in your soul A birthday party for a newborn foal you sit in the back with your black hole... Sipping, drinking, from an empty cup I was sailing on along the sky quite smooth dancing from stars to planets red and blue I saw an actress I thought was you but I see your likeness in the infinite sky, too... It brought back all my earthly thoughts. Regular hobos drop into my establishment their things are bundled and smell of cement The bar-stools are clean, tables are intent the patrons have left and my mind can relent... I relax by sketching your face on a napkin. We've been inside the great wall of my birth bodies encased and solidly rooted in the earth You face one side's pain, I see my own hurt side by side we stand apart, outside the yurt... Without you i'd still be unable to stretch. Sad faces populate my streets of late you wished for my smile yet only saw self-hate The rain's finally broken, i'm down in a grate I'm holding onto the crushed remains of a date... February 22nd, the key to destiny. |