PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Staring until madness

takes me in this public place

Awful onlookers

with half faces wilt

into strangers,

melting into strangers

being born in bathrooms

with too little toilet paper

and automatic hand dryers

stuck on full blast

just as the placenta drys

on your new jeans

You wet your face and slide fingers past

but you're still you

and you still never wash your hands

for fear of losing the germs

I think we were made for this,

In the coffee shops

or the bar parlors

in barber shops

our minds grow sharper

of the dull scenery

we surround ourselves with

unlike the ones when we were kids,

I think we were made for this,

tailored to fit the keep

when dexterity is never enough,

Our lovers often weep

when we lie about who we were, are, or should be

I walk door to door

and ask if everything is alright inside,

I see the car

the mailbox

and shrubery lining the drive,

It's the makings of a death bed

in a slick 50's horror movie,

Crash my hard head with color

when the scene is freeze framed,

I'll squeeze you in

till we both collapse from it

Until the blood rushes

from my fingers to my feet,

We can dance when we expire

and twirl until tomorrow never comes,

We'll all dodge the bathroom now

because we know

there'll be too little toilet paper

and pissing on placenta cakes

has grown tacky