tagNon-Erotic PoetryPerhaps it is the hurricane

Perhaps it is the hurricane


Perhaps it is the hurricane
that forces our eyes open
with it's low pressure.

Nothing to hold us together,
the mind rises slowly over our brains
like an egg cracked in space
it seeps outward, upward.

Meanwhile, you swat the mosquitoes,
I gently remove the wooden picks
that prop open your eyes.

We make bug gut hors d’oeuvres,
serve them up with pride.
We blink when we want to blink,
think what we want to think.

Let us talk about Brad and Angelina
Darling, did you hear
a new baby, or
let us talk about Jennifer
she does not want revenge
she just wants to move on
don't you think?
don't you think?

These things are critical
in keeping our eyes closed
toothpicks placed where they best belong,
in our snacks.

Life gives good crunch.
Let us bite through to the core
and then eat that too.
Sever the bits,
crunch bones,
crack exoskeleton.

Feel cuts on the inside
of cheeks, slicing all the way.



But until then, can I whip you up a smoothie?

I have a bear full of honey and a basket full of fruit
Can you tolerate lactose?
Shall I get you a straw?

Let us talk about the ugliest dog in the world
then you can chase me with that giant ceramic penis.
I promise not to scream...

Close the windows!
Someone is coming with a new death toll!

You can find me under blankets
under the stairs
under the chemicals that slow the fire in my brain.

Quickly! Press frappe
and bring me a straw
the bendy kind please,
I am too weary to lift my head.

Come, lie beside me.
We can compare scars and birthmarks
exchange fourth grade stories
when all that mattered was all that mattered.

What I need is a solid ending.
What I need is closure.
come on give me something
come on give me something to tie this
together into a pouch filled
with stingers and streamers and wire
and this broken clock.

Certainly, I will need them later.

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