Like a steadfast woodpecker
Meticulously digging at my brain,
The clock beats out its seconds
In its Chinese Water Torture refrain...
'Do I want to write angry words,
Railing at Flint's dirty water,
Or suicidal open mics,
Or psychopaths for President?'
Just a slice of the "news",
Eating Facebook pizza -
Quite a bit unhealthy
If gorged on each minute,
Of each day, all these years;
Leading to drying up
Of desensitized tears...
Drifting, I focus on the color orange.
I wonder, "Will my Longhorn spirit show?
Will I wander down a mental alley
With a decadent, sweet, innocent fruit -
Rolling beside me, and yet unaware
That soon, it will be skinned and devoured?"
Most of the adjectives I am drawn to
Seem to be visual - colors or fruits...
Or hard to make rhymes with...
How I thirst for metaphors,
Twists of words deep in my brain;
Awaiting the woodpecker,
Or possibly Pink Floyd's worms...
I want to listen to the bards,
Instead of the clock-knocking birds,
Or the silence of stores so bare.
So, I plug in my phone
And blast the tunes so loud,
Hoping musical noise
Will find a buried home
That attention allows
To become my mind's toys.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment