Poetry

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A crease in the socket of emotion

proposed a silent watery rhyme,

swam under the surface of your

thoughts so as not to disturb

patterns forming, digits and dots

tapping at your side in vain edits.

 

Caught, locked in tights cells of you,

I wound up the cotton reel, mending

the holes of doubt, and arching my

back I purred along the wall side stepping

sharp sabotage, where blood spurts,

cuts split their sides, dropping droplets

 

 

reddened and dark, stains of a thousand

prints, their script to prevent access.

I borrowed a moment from the street

sellers cart, persisted that I would not

sell him out, that the ground was solid

under my feet, bolt upright, proof.

 

 

I sang my belief, like a bold pennance,

scenes where money would cross palms

of one asking for more, a bowl held high,

armed with charming smiles. If it wasn't

for their half beliefs studying my every

transparancy, the gutteral deluge swiftly

 

 

passing me to sewered excellance, would

tug my heels, entwining shoelaced lies,

and how I would fail, unable to shift

the showcase of my life, but, suckered

in my slip stream, I gargled the depths

while you made space for my spewing