Metal Delay or Discourse? Yet Uncomfortable (Poem Year #17)

Phew.
Desolate.
Nonsense

repeat me shush-partisan

Clever molting breeds arrival.
Tense meadows of musty morning weave fiction into memory.
New and old and breakneck, we go.
Where we straighten our backs and slap the day disrespectfully.
Spit in faces!
Alarm familiarity inside our bunker!

Fantastical dreams.
You know you’re better without the hubris.
A calendar burns.

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3 comments

  1. Tosha Michelle · October 19, 2015

    I particularly liked your last two lines

    Liked by 1 person

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