PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The hounds are down In the cellar

Hollering something unholy,

Sounds you can’t unhear

That come with pearls that can’t be unclutched

That woman who keeps them

-- she has the magic touch

With big ol' eyes that pry our lives

--We sure do long to steal'em

We would hold them in our hands 

And feel the magic pass by in her lidless blinking

The neighbors crack the blinds 

--And then their knuckles 

I got a good look at them before the thoughts buckled

--Peace pardoned jewelry bare as they may be

I can still hear the chuckles they let out

They love the hounds and their songs 

They use their howls to sleep

—their own howling tends to take a backseat

while the reality we create stays still under the sheet

Coarse knit stitch sweaters

Soaked in love letters 

leave more questions than answers

and it ain't getting any better, 

Ferry us hard into that long ditch 

While we peel our passion proper,

We dig into our arms for the itch in our own posture 

Through the course of these thoughts 

Ive come to understand that 

I could go for a burger, darlin'

I could go for fries 

--you double back and boil over 

--into an alabastor sky,

The Neighborhood watch

Stays buried in bushes

crackling through walkie talkies

"Copy? Over."