Curly strawberry curls.
Seductive legs, wandering eyes.
Crooked memories, she couldn’t retrieve.
Strange footprints from the sky, a smooth breeze.
And a small boy humming, mainly to keep his mind in his head.
When all the dishes were done, the floors were scrubbed.
She continued to write sideways, and let the cold wander on in.
Numb feet, numb thoughts, numb feelings/
It was as if none of it mattered.
Poetry has no script, we’re writing for freedom.
Wilted berries lay upon her chest, and obvious whisper dreaming to be dreamt of. Vibrations numbing astrology. I do wonder why we create words to be sophisticated. I watched the feathers of the dandelion fly away while I pretended to make a wish just for you. Only this shy piece of skin could tell you were listening with your eyes. Dark death on her fingernails, but that wouldn’t stop you from her alluring sight. This is all nonsense, this is just reality thrown into metaphors and analogies. Thoughts lingered beside her, while the burgundy shoes were being burned in a far away desert. She missed her shoes, she missed her hair and her clothes; so under worn, but the past was so meaningless to return to. I am often delirious, and fill my art with confusion. I can feel the snake licking my toes, yearning for blood all inside my olive green sleeping bag just hours before it rained this morning. I contemplated many mysterious curiosities in my life. My crooked spine twinged and I could hear the scream for nerves away. I don’t know why I torture myself, I guess it’s easier sometimes.
Every day he pulls my body from my soul, but I won’t let it go, for I am not fearless, I respect the beauty in the wicked.