Blind

Buckling at the knees
Trying to stand against the turbulent wind
That etches these lines on my face
It’s not age, it’s disgrace
Fallen at every hurdle
I’m not Sisyphus
Never could be
My lips are burdened with the weight of frowning
I’m not an island
Though I tried to be
With all these thoughts
Taking flight like the birds
Around me
Gannets gouge my eyes
And Satan just flies on by
With the little yellow glint in front of their eyes
As they laugh and I cry
They are grace
But what am I?
Frankenstein
An arms race inside my mind
Trying to be of the world
When I’m blind

We’re so tiny in reality

The world doesn’t care for you or I
Deep in this monster
We’re just little drone bees
Coming home legless
No longer qualified

Poetry inspired by nature:

Honey bees like a treat sometimes, sap from lime trees. This sap ferments and they get drunk. And if they make it back to the hive, the ‘guard bees’ will take their legs off for punishment.

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The immortal fight

A ribbon of smoke billowed an apology between them
Hostility temporarily suspended
As they eyed one another from behind their cherry lit ends
the deer head peered upon the silence
that smeared the air between them
The saxophone mere white noise
unable to penetrate the moment
Only turning their heads from one another
to watch her feet burdened in high heels
as she walked towards the one she chose
which wasn’t either of them
Their nostrils flared
and behind gritted teeth they faked pleasantries
Before taking it outside in the street
Noses cracked and busted lips
Hatred snaking through cigarette mist
Till the bobby comes on the beat
To resume assumed peace