I don't have a brain
The grey tides of smoke wash my tongue.
Iceberg mint embedded beneath my knuckles.
don't have a brain.
Neglect her hands. Neglect both.
Lemon glaze rolled over salmon lips
She’s firewater, ocean screaming.
Piano teeth lined steadily atop scarred mahogany.
have a brain.
Deja vu on a flower couch
Smoke with a barn-cat
and a broken neck.
a brain.
Careless chicken beak.
Leftover smile.
Walk on my face.
brain.
Burnt, twisted. Burnt again
YOU ARE READING
I Don't Have a Brain
PoetryThis is a collection of the original poems I've composed from early 2017 onward. I've had fun experimenting with surrealism and hope to inspire others!
