More Poetry

Sewer
Last night I dreamed I was sick, viens cut
no blood poured out
each wound was full of my blood
clotted like chocolate meat
I pulled and pushed and spurted
the sickly clot from my vien
it burst from my shoulder
the pain and waste
shooting forth and
I felt as though I were dying
the vien broke and I tried
to fix it
like a bad spice my father
would make on Christmas tree lights
I feared for my life, and felt
the cold grip of death
as I woke in fridgid sweat


Milling about
The Flim-Flam Man
with his bowler hat
addorned with pheasent feather
shouted mighty successes
at mediocre masses
of hopeful authors


Drawn Unto You
i bleed for you
my dear; my darling
like the love of a
paper birch
my life spilling out
through every crack
in my bark

i need for you
my dear; my darling
with the need of a
withdrawl ridden junkie
guts and bile spilling
to show every ounce
of my ache

i want for you
my dear; my darling
like the want of a
teenage boy
my body's needs
throbbing through every inch
of my soul

i die for you
my dear; my darling
like we die to each other
everyday
and each time you are
sweet stranger
of my heart


Seems lately I've been bitten by the poetry bug. Good news for me, bad news for poetry. Hope you enjoyed. Peace out.