13.1k views, 2xBest Poetry Period. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind. |
Pot Of Hope I know we're supposed to whisper -- but we left him in the hall. why spend $9.95 to have him when we don't think of him at all. Midday, lone shaft of light angles to reach over the rail into the corner where he lays alone, you on the phone, me in my mind wandering to and from this place. He could be be so pale, no love but neglect of a dream of ownership, the promise in a bucket with a brilliant, little sticker adorning his crib, now coffin, in this less cozy, little home. Did my dream become his, to produce and reproduce, give love we had, serve a couple in need of a little more ambience, like potpourri burning nasal passages to connected brain, no memory just credit to buy an affordable, middle class pot of hope? Death was long before adoption, a struggle for light, and taste for a drop of tap water in nutrient-rich dirt -- lifelong nap, not a rare colored iris will wink awake in the dead of these nights. 1.27.22 I think we're all destined to dream of something unrealistic for just $9.95, today... delusionally waste time, invoke it into mind-f'd reality. A little dream of ownership with no skills to cultivate life. It sounds harsh: but, fuck everybody for imposing their reality into mine... especially, the ignorant sentimental fools who are not awake tonight. (Sad I must disclaimer: metaphorically, not literally...if you even know the difference from...nevermind. Point made?) |