Buranko's NaPo poems

late night guilt
stepping in front of my room
maybe they caught me
phew, it was my
bed creaking

steps came closer
oh no, they might catch me
only to realise it is but
the wind knocking on the
old rusty trees

the steps stop
then, on the old wooden planks they
approach once again
ah it's nothing, i'm sure
the door opens and with it
the disappointed, sleepy gaze
of the higher beings

pinching sugar
dancing on my
crying tongue

crying sweet tears
sticky tears, dripping tears
sliding them further inside

I do me
i do it, it does me
i'm liking it and it likes
me

boy, don't dare
or else I'll dare you
boy, don't push me
it might push back

cutting edge
knife and its cuts
slowly swiming on the fabric
of my unsuspecting fingers

cutting edge
technology
cyber spaces and
cyber punks

Shrimps
Angry with pointy eyebrows
And tomato sauce
Drowning their eyebrows
In the blood of
Ex tomatoes.

Every day
Every night
Every night
Every day
Forever searching
Never finding
Never resting
Everglowing stars
Everything
Is everywhere

Spitting
Flames, swallowing
Flames, spitting
Flames, swallowing
Songs of the past

Earth the spinning guy
I named him Bill
Bill is spinning on
His orbit, spinning and turning.

Lively, up and down
Slithering left and right
Spins on the 
Spinning line

My heart is tingling
My tongue rolls lazily 
In the moist swamp I call
Mouth
It peeks out and kisses my 
Finger

The finger slowly descends 
On the pale yellow desert
Filled with rocks carefully placed
In rows, columns, shelves, 
And turns the page over.

I met myself
And myself met me 
We both agreed to call 
Ourselves a meeting

Damn music and its damn lyrics
Damn football and its players
Damn book and its letters
Damn school and its teachers
Damn damning and its damnings

Shivers from the underworld
Shivering on my underworld
Underworld their underwords and
Their undergarments

I undergo a underprocedure 
To undershiver the undershivers
Underthebridges and underthebeds
Laughing underisterically

I am
A spot of blood on your shirt
Spot it quickly

I am not overwhelmed
nor underwhelmed
for I am
whelmed

'tis a poem about whales
whales roaming the
azure desert

whales wholeheartedly
eating tons of
crescent moon
pale bugs

whales moaning
crying, puffing
caring for their
young but huge
cub