Well it's been a few months since I've written anything that could be considered poetry, so I thought I'd give it another go. I've probably lost my touch. Enjoy.
Snake-Lady & The Horizon (title not to be taken seriously)
Remember the other day,
when the sky melted in sporadic colours,
only to be cut off by the black of distances we didn't know,
and how we knew it was message in pantomime.
This feeling lives somewhere,
where kitchen benches bend in broken homes.
In places that send jigsaw echoes through dreamcatchers,
incomplete memories like digitized wish lists.
We'll never find ourselves,
in empty bottles or glasses broken in rage.
It smells so sulfur-sweet when we burn in our pride,
and nothing ignites like a neglected garden.
So now I'm folding paper,
trying to find a quicker way from A to B.
Like dinner alone, suburbia feels like you won't show up,
but I've got nowhere else to go.
