Painting By Numbers

Poetry is cascading water

Flowing upwards to the sky

It looks like silver fishes swimming

Feels hot or cold or lukewarm

I hear it flowing

Smell its sweetness on the thunderstorm

As threatening as Oswald in a Texas bookstore

Sometimes as sour as storm

I am not painting by numbers

I am just blathering

I feel the words soil my creativeness

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Killing Time Ain't no Crime

My date is at five and it’s six am

That’s eleven hours between now and then

That’s six hundred and sixty minutes I reckon

Or thirty-nine thousand and six hundred seconds

They’re ticking by, but not fast enough

They’re tic, tic, tic, tic, ticking me off

The time ain’t flying, it’s got me sighing

The minutes grind by and it’s crucifying

As ...

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The Devil On My Right Shoulder

it might be snowing outside

if I could be bothered

a girl with red lipstick

could be kissing my cheek

the sky could be filled

with ants on the wing

silver fish

darting in foam

at the foot of a black mountain

we could be counting stars

riding a Ferris wheel

licking sweat

from thighs of gold

the days could last

for week...

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