the tides, gasoline
sickly sweet
the tides are never spent.
the veins, saccharin
seeping through a fingertip
he bleeds but blood is infinite.
/
is that stargazer a pretentious man?
a river down the spine — crawls, stirrings, itches
and up again, a colony of termites
a lens of prismatic words.
the painting, moonlight refracted
infinity and one
/
is that stargazer a pretentious man?
monologues are therapy sessions
for the trailblazer, digging in dirt
he can't shine through
days in the dark, dreaming, finding
when oxygen passes by
/
a stroll by the shore:
the tides, gasoline, ink
stars reflecting between their strokes
the tides are never spent
saccharin, cyanide, forget-me-ever
"recipe from the veins"
a leap was the bartender's tip.
/
Frau Hohenadel, it was set in stone.
an ocean from nowhere
the thin air beneath ribs
no matter how much we laugh, cough
it would drown me.
read his story, but there is no end
was that stargazer a pretentious man?
YOU ARE READING
cacophony
Poetrya trail of poetry drawn between inward glances because i gave up on shouting myself down. | voice one: 01-13 | voice two: 16-29 | voice three: 30-36 | voice four: 37-42 | p.s. the first few poems are really bad. ~ hymn ©2020
