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Poetry of a moment.
chewmauro
Posts: 16
I am sitting here and the moment itself is a visual poem.
A cold rain is falling on my tin roof, and has been all night. The sky is 2 feet above my head and gray. My feet are warm, but my fingers are cold and arthritic. When I passed the mirror it was fully evident that I look homeless. A joint is hanging from my mouth while a smoke to match the clouds rolls around in my face. An empty bottle of Jim Beam sits in the middle of the cold floor. What really does it is Lou Reed groaning out "Heroin", a friend stole a Velvet Underground album from a house party lastnight (mine now). Odd that I am not nearly as alone as I feel. But like I said, it makes for a cinematic moment in my day. I like when this happens.
A cold rain is falling on my tin roof, and has been all night. The sky is 2 feet above my head and gray. My feet are warm, but my fingers are cold and arthritic. When I passed the mirror it was fully evident that I look homeless. A joint is hanging from my mouth while a smoke to match the clouds rolls around in my face. An empty bottle of Jim Beam sits in the middle of the cold floor. What really does it is Lou Reed groaning out "Heroin", a friend stole a Velvet Underground album from a house party lastnight (mine now). Odd that I am not nearly as alone as I feel. But like I said, it makes for a cinematic moment in my day. I like when this happens.
.when god lets my body be
..from each brave eye will spring a
tree
.all the while my heart shall be
..with the buldge and nuzzle of the
sea
..from each brave eye will spring a
tree
.all the while my heart shall be
..with the buldge and nuzzle of the
sea
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