Poems

I'm in a poem's factory

a labor camp of rhyme,

the work feels like play

stanza sweats are mine

I've flown far now to well bottom

knee deep in grateful sentiments

I'm lapping her nice, sweet water

bathing in good sediment of love

Born in the right place at a good time,

otherwise, a bus sized dragonfly would

trap me in its strong, stocky front legs

serrate my skull with a huge mandible

use vast, hinged jaws (which can open 

wide as its alien-eyed, fighter's helmet

head) to ingest me as a yummy nibble!

I'm on a poem roll

pumpernickel ryes

nutty whole wheat

seedy buttered top

fighter jets Mach 3

waggling my wings

Oh, that baby joy!

Radiating past me

like newbies shine

Swimmingly within

my pool of live dust

here at a good time

I see a full void,

in silent scream

at my breakfasts 

Hands covering my eyes,

now massage a stiff neck

holding perplexed agony

Fictitiously quivering,

like the fake replicant

Absolutely shuddering,

in his cold, dark reality

Drops like a marionette with cut strings

disappearing behind a magician curtain

wafting away like a puffy poof of clouds

Life she's tickling me pink

producing every chemical

needed to make me laugh

Brain she paints town red

opens up sweet baby blue

bright smile meet hot sun

Paints to a heart's content

brushes his latest memory

portraying each arty moon

It's a bad habit catching phantom resentments

and terrible form putting them on our families

But I broke mine like the mean YouTube camel  

when it clamped down on that old mule's spine

The love hates relationship

been here since way before,

although 'tis I feel it mostly

as magnified suns upon me

Pain for my every existence

is needing to have me gone,

like pushin' up fresh flowers

reneging and taking 'em out