It’s like there’s a couple of words running around in your head and you’re not sure if it’s a song that you heard or maybe something you’ve read and then the words in your head become flames on your tongue
and you don’t care anymore because they’re your words and more and the more the flame the more the words came until you dried like the desert you are.
Apostrophes bother me.
Apostle come bother me
even when dry
when you feel you could die
the water is words yet to come,
some swim in it
some drown in it
I knit a gown and go out in it.
What is peculiar?
if not then to fool you
to make you superior?
when you’re asking them, why me?
and I detect irony
we’ll all rust away one day,
plastic pins and hips and things
will be all that remain.
I like the words that stain the walls
that rip through mansion halls to
crack the stucco on the ceilings,
‘be careful’, someone calls,
but heaven falls on Angels and
someone else now sings the words that
once ran wildly through my mind
I don’t mind at all.
© 2017, John Smallshaw.