Poetry for me is a way of living, it comes out of nowhere and I have to write it down. How I write, what I write, I decide. I am not asking you to be judgemental. I am gifted with the ability to see beyond the obvious.
go on, you have a feast I will escape into solitude to meditate my mind's engine has stopped I want to empty it to move on how do I generate a ghost, any ghost, who makes me forget torn, broke, I trudge deeper into the jungle yes, I laugh aloud at my dare my veins stand out but I am no longer torn once I find the way, I will hit the sack while you have a gruesome feast with everything ghoulish I know I irritate you all the time with my enigmatic smile "my parlor is the abode of a stray, and you know, you can't get away any longer"
I chisel away the plaster with that blindfold I need to find that mirror to scry before I hear someone cry of untold horrors just round the corner a chill runs through me and I recede to a corner I can hear the rattle of a train passing by that creek I know I have to find that mirror instead I find a webcam hidden in the recess of that wall no wonder, foreboding had taken me over I was catching up with someone's sin that sin which invades the privacy of others I hear a crushed soul crashing to ground with that drumbeat "let me be blindfolded and smell the flowers or is it smoke I am swallowing?"
near that river, close to the railway track a body is revealed. is she alive did she collapse there? I can see the longing in her face imagine her radiant smile in better days and gnash my teeth at the waste where did she emerge from now almost skin and bones a mask, isn't it what we have always? is it reel, is it real who will answer above that silence media has all the answers one needs only post it there no respect for the alive even less for the dead but let her rest in peace "let me close my eyes and rest for a while while she lies in the shallows"
