Ticonderoga

3262

Engraved

On a Ticonderoga

I reached to the back of my skull

And found the same number engraved

In me

Serendipitous utensils

I know how silly

Love can be

But why not believe,

Yellow slender;

Soul mate.

We are writing utensils

Intertwined

Flowing

Like letting go of a manuscript

In a windstorm

But you hurt me so.

Do I use you?

Or do they use me?

Were you here?

Is your motives for nothing,

But profit?

Is your heart not in it,

The way it once was?

It will feel like years

Until I see you again

But I’ve never loved

Like I love the pen

And once the door closes

I’ll curse your name

Wish the lips never parted

Slithering tongue

The picking of

flesh from bone,

My vulture

My muse

Moving me to new grounds

Pushing Passion

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Fascinating Finds

From frail to fruition

From fracture

To SPACE

And the opportunity of white lines

Consciousness is a leech

Bulging, benign

And every sober word

Rhymes with lost time

Thyme and sage, Rosemary

Lines the foot of my bed

With a bouquet of flowers

Because I won’t be resting

When I’m dead

Literary Car Thief

Poetry has been established
As the biggest game of bullshit ever played
Little phrases and manufactured sentences
How does something so fake improve?

How does something that barely exists in the mind of the poet
Get any better?
How can I willingly dedicate my life to something
That I know has the same amount of depth
As a car thief?

That is what I’ve strived for
My whole life
Is to be your very special
Pretentious
Literary
Car thief.