Used Crayons and Ripped Paper


Used Crayons and Ripped Paper

They converse, white teeth,
enzymes diminishing pretty photo copied paper.
Skeleton cream walls surrounds
Old Yeller (her license barely printed horizontally) and me.

6 AM, day two:
Acupuncture draws blood,
All here are HIGH RISK.
Porcelain lips crack
‘til Vaseline coats seep.
Absent coffee morning,
caffeine free and a gum free security.

Old Yeller raises her quiet chin,
ceiling glass taking motion pictures.
Packrat contraband.
An entire Lost and Found building
dedicated to being an empty box.

Feet pace in hurried clicks.
Moans of distress inhale sipping
paper cups, sample size disguise
intoxicating helpers burns edges of neurons.

Our maps drop globs of ash
Burning our memories incomplete.
Legs do not walk themselves
anymore.

I asked before she left,
“May I borrow your crayon and paper?”
 -rip, scribble.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

When We First Met: Snowflake # 3

The Boy Who Now Calls Me Honey Bunny  When you and I first met, I am sure you were wearing a button down shirt. The red one I have come to fancy you hansom in. I am sure the sleeves were not rolled up. Blue jeans made it casual and those black boots seem to be the only shoes you own outside of the tennis shoes you wear to run in. A girlfriend of mine came with, very little was said at the table. We continued the evening to her place where we lounged (as artists usually do) and had a dark beer. This is when it clicked. I thought your conversation was more intriguing to me than my original, more primal intentions.  In the elevator, we had made friends and in the parking lot you played hard to get as I returned in a coy fashion.  Post Script We give each other kisses all the time now and say the grossest, cliche, and un-poetic saps constantly. Sometimes even over text messages. Post Post Script We don't talk anymore. I wonder if he still drinks. 
Read more

I once was lost in the woods as a child

  I once was lost in the woods as a child, soon a voice replied to me, “go that way”. It was a voice I did not question. It was a voice I did not know, but did not not know. I found my way back to camp. It was years before that voice returned. When I heard it again, I recognized it as my own.
Read more